Brothers Among the Broken
by QuestRunner
Summary: Prior to his involvement with Phoenix, Mac finds himself at the mercy of Nikki, a Mindbreaker of tremendous power. Under the command of Matilda Webber, Jack Dalton and Samantha Cage race to locate Nikki and stop her nefarious plans.
1. Chapter 1

She only used him for his 1965 Lincoln Continental.

Not for his M.I.T. education. Or his fluency in Italian, Ukranian or Mandarin. Or for his access to the locked safe hidden in the back office. No, Nikki Carpenter was a woman of impulse; she had the means at her disposable to obtain whatever she wanted and didn't much care for the devastation left in her wake once her desire was achieved. Angus MacGyver had no way of knowing the extent his life would change after his brief encounter with the petite blonde…but instinct told him it was about to get complicated. And considerably more dangerous.

Mac stretched and rubbed a hand over his face. The action provided a welcome respite from the harsh glow of the computer screen. Ordering parts and completing electronic paperwork were some of the most monotonous and unglamorous parts of his job…well, if you could call the duties associated with a mechanic anywhere near glamorous. A glance at the clock affixed above the entrance made him groan. Six o'clock already. Official closing had been one hour ago, though he'd stayed later the past few nights to make up for the loss of manpower. Running a two man show single-handedly was turning out to be more difficult than he'd originally thought. He couldn't wait for Bozer to get back from whatever film convention he'd up and run off to so they could get their customers' repairs done a little more timely.

And, yes, it would be nice to have extra time leftover to continue working on his father's pride and joy. Just a couple more adjustments and the beast would be purring like the day it was taken off the lot. The classic automobile looked sleek under the flickering fluorescents, but it wouldn't truly shine until it was allowed to roam free under a blazing sun over miles of uninterrupted roadway. He'd been trying to save the first drive after its restoration for his father's return, but fifteen years was a long time and he was tired of waiting for a reunion that would likely never happen. Bozer, his best friend since childhood, had stuck with him through everything and deserved this experience. Mac chuckled as he imagined his buddy's face when he surprised him with the impromptu roadtrip; that is, after their work was caught up and the finishing touches were completed on the '65 beauty.

An even tapping sound broke him from his reverie, causing him to turn toward the entrance of the shop. A young, platinum blonde woman glanced at him from the other side of the transparent door and waved as he jumped from his chair and headed in her direction. The five steps it took to reach her were enough for him to realize something felt a little off. Her clothing was immaculate—business professional—which was odd considering the time of night. Her posture exuded power and confidence; not the sort of attitude he typically encountered when assisting those involved in an accident. All in all, she looked out-of-place outside the small repair shop, and her smile did little in the way of reassurance. But…he didn't actually see any noticeable threat and he couldn't, in good conscience, leave someone outside in near frigid temperatures. He fumbled slightly with the key ring clipped to his belt loop and unlocked the door. The woman didn't immediately enter.

"I apologize for bothering you so late. But the other shops were closed," she said sweetly. Mac held the door open for her and waved the blonde through. She strode forward gracefully, high-heeled shoes not missing a beat as she traversed from loose gravel to slightly smudged linoleum. "Not a problem, ma'am. I was just finishing some things up." A crisp, autumn breeze drifted inward and Mac shivered involuntarily against the chill. He closed the door before addressing her again. Simple blouse, pencil skirt, no jacket. Why wasn't she wearing something warmer? "Getting cold out there. Anyways, what can I do for you?"

The blonde stood erect and offered her hand graciously. "Nikki. Nikki Carpenter."

Mac blushed slightly and took her hand in his. "Uh, yeah, sorry. Angus MacGyver, but everyone calls me Mac." He shook her hand quickly and was just starting to relax his grip when hers tightened almost painfully. Her blue eyes pierced his own with a strange intensity.

"I'm in need of assistance. And I believe you're just the man to help me."

Mac delicately pulled away from her, trying not to be rude. "If you need to make a phone call, we've still got a landline," he indicated the outdated phone sitting obtrusively on the corner of the front desk, "or you can use my cell phone." He fished the device out of his front coverall pocket and swiped his thumb across the screen. A film of grease followed the movement. "Well, it's a bit dirty but still in fine condition. I'm usually on call, so it tends to come with me during repairs."

"Oh, there's no need for that." She chuckled softly, though the niceties were beginning to feel forced. He rather felt like he was being talked down to and her sudden appearance was starting to become unsettling. Mac clutched his phone a little tighter, the small device providing a modicum of comfort in his calloused palm. "Not sure what exactly I can assist you with at such a late hour…unless you're referring to a tow? We don't personally have a towing service available, but we'll work directly with the company of your choice—"

"I don't need a tow. Or repairs. I'd like a car." Nikki's expression remained unchanged, like a porcelain doll. It was unnerving.

"Okay…well, I'm sorry to inconvenience you, but this is an auto repair shop. There's a used dealership not far from here, but you'll have to go to the next town over if you want something other than Ford—"

Nikki walked purposefully to the left, her path taking her toward the interior garage entrance. "I'd like more of a statement piece. Like that pretty little Lincoln you've got hidden away."

Mac's friendly demeanor froze. "Not for sale." The blonde laughed again and he grit his teeth in barely veiled anger. The silent alarms in his head were blaring now.

"It makes no difference whether you're willing to sell the vehicle to me or not. I am accustomed to getting what I want and this time is no exception." Her stride barely wavered as she continued toward her destination, turning her back to him. Unwilling to use physical force, Mac took the opportunity to activate lockdown procedures from an app on his phone in order to deter Nikki—if that was, indeed, her real name—from advancing further. Large metallic grates cascaded downward, blocking the way to the garage. The mechanism had actually been Bozer's idea; after a particularly scary encounter with an upset customer, he'd had the gates installed in the ceiling as an extra preventive measure. After some trial and error, Mac had been able to automate the system; Bozer then implemented the app for remote access. While the phone application didn't have the capabilites to alert the authorities, it _would_ send a text notification to Bozer.

"The police are on their way. Leave now, and I'll tell them I tripped the alarm by accident. Otherwise, I'll have them arrest you for attempted carjacking."

Nikki turned to face him. Amusement danced across her delicate features. "I don't believe you."

"Excuse me?"

"No one's coming for you. And there will be nothing to report even if you do somehow manage to attract someone's attention."

"Yeah? And why's that?"

"I'm not stealing your precious vehicle," the woman enunciated slowly, drinking in Mac's confused expression with a devilish smirk, "because you're going to give it to me."

Mac snarled in realization as her words hit home. "Mindbreaker."

"Good boy. I see you've heard of us." Her words were honeyed, sympathetic.

Of course he'd heard of Mindbreakers. His studies at M.I.T. had once delved deeply into the phenomena, until his interests pulled him away from neurology and into other—admittedly more exciting—biological fields. Mindbreakers were rare; the ability often skipped multiple generations. Mac could calculate Nikki's mental acuity with percentages and probabilities, but it more or less boiled down to one thing: if she could truly convince him to give her his most prized possession, then she was one of the most powerful Mindbreakers of the century. But that was impossible. Mindbreakers had the same limitations as hypnotists. They couldn't force you into submission against your will.

At least, not yet. But Mindbreakers were still dangerous when left unchecked. He decided to play along.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Why not?"

Mac hesitated. Best keep her talking as long as possible. "Look, I'm just your average grease monkey. And that Lincoln back there hasn't even been out for a test drive."

She cocked an eyebrow. "So?"

"Humor me."

Nikki leaned against the grate and crossed her arms. "Maybe I'm just a lonely girl who happens to want an impressive vehicle." Her face hardened at Mac's derisive snort.

"Right. And maybe I star in Taylor Swift music videos."

"You're cute, I'll give you that. But you're not as funny as you think you are." Mac felt a dull ache blossom in the center of his forehead, behind his eyes. Was the Mindbreak happening already? He pushed the thoughts aside. So far all Nikki had done was talk big and dress inappropriately for the weather. His unwelcome guest was probably also bluffing about the strength of her ability.

"Look, like I said, the cops are on their way." And Bozer, Mac added silently. If his friend and co-worker left the conference immediately, he could be back within the hour. Mac didn't know if he could stall Nikki for that long, but he was certainly not letting that woman get anywhere near the last tangible bond he shared with his father. "But in the meantime, you can use the computer and we can find you another Lincoln Continental that's, you know, legitimately for sale—"

"Oh, come now," the blonde interrupted, her voice silken. "I suppose it's time to drop the act. You see, I'm not really in need of a vehicle. I just need to send a message. Something that can't be sent by conventional means."

"And stealing my car accomplishes this…how, exactly?" Nikki took a step toward Mac, who flinched as the throbbing in his head intensified. In fact, the pain continued to worsen as she closed the space between them.

"It's not just a car to you, though, is it?" She adopted a mocking tone, blue eyes twinkling like sharply cut diamonds. "He promised to restore it with you. The last memento of your long-lost father."

"Shut up!" The cell phone slipped from Mac's grip as he slammed his palm on the desk's surface.

"It's not a possession you would part with easily," she murmured, advancing slowly. "Which will make it all the more sweeter when it's _mine_." Each clack of her heels sent an aching bolt through Mac's skull as he struggled to remain standing. Shutting his eyes did nothing to mask the icy probes jabbing into his mind, but at least he was no longer subjected to the blonde's smug grin. He was all but defenseless against the mental assault and could only grimace as Nikki formed the cerebral bond against his will. It was no wonder the woman seemed impervious to the cold; her entire essencewas coated with a frostiness that pierced him from the inside out. Disoriented and weak, he fell to his knees, both palms rubbing his forehead. When would it end? When would it _stop?_ Mac could do nothing but tremble uselessly from the pain and internal tempest as the Mindbreak took effect.

He barely registered when Nikki knelt before him and brushed the bangs away from his face. "That's it, Mac. You can't fight it."

He might've screamed. Mac wasn't quite sure of anything at the moment. He felt like someone had raked a wire brush through his brain then doused the wounds with liquid nitrogen.

"Don't be too hard on yourself," the voice boomed in his self-imposed darkness. "I expected as much from an average grease monkey." He couldn't escape the bond—which was becoming stronger every passing second—but at least the frost hadn't seeped into his own thoughts and memories. More like pushed everything to the wayside. Mac often joked with Bozer that his mind operated like rows of filing cabinets since he was so fond of compartmentalizing information. This way of thinking had helped him retain everything from the interesting to the mundane and now it may possibly hold the key to saving his rationality.

Within the darkness, Mac quickly checked on his filing cabinets that had been thrown out of their immaculate straight rows. Everything that still made him—well, him—appeared to be intact. He could recall what he ate for breakfast that morning and knew Bozer would soon be on his way from the conference. Mac released a shaky breath. Okay. He could handle this. This woman could do whatever she wished with him, but once she released him from her will at least he'd be able to piece the shambled fragments of his mind back together. The process might take a little while but eventually he'd organize everything back to his liking. No problem.

Nikki grasped his elbow and hoisted him up to his feet. Mac's legs followed puppetlike, but his eyes remained squeezed tightly shut. The disappointment in Nikki's voice was palpable. "I thought we agreed you wouldn't fight, Mac. Do I need to be more…persuasive?" Mac released a strangled sound that might've been an attempted comeback or simply a groan. Either way, it was indicative of his decision to battle the takeover with every fiber of his being. "Oh, my poor, sweet, Mac," the blonde chided softly. "I did warn you."

Mac cringed as the bond sizzled with energy and lashed out with a million glacial whips. The long tendrils created frozen puddles, ponds, _oceans_ in their wake, coating the entire expanse of his mind with a thick snowy film. He tugged on the filing cabinet handles in vain; the glaze had frozen solid, making the cabinets impossible to open, effectively cutting him off from his memories. His friends. His basic survival instincts. Mac's intellectual, brilliant, scientific mind that had always been his source of pride had now become the bane of his existence. The Mindbreak was too strong. Even if the bond was eventually voided, the damage was done. Angus MacGyver, for all intents and purposes, was dead. Only a hollow shell remained, and even at that, his priority lay with his Mindbreaker's every whim.

"That's more like it. Now, you already know what I want. Disengage the gate. Make sure your Lincoln is in perfect working condition. And, seeing as you're already filthy, add a coat of wax." He didn't even nod. Orders had been issued. Nothing else mattered.


	2. Chapter 2

"Matty, this chick's leaving more bread crumbs than Hansel and Gretel in a bakery. I'm telling you, it's looking more and more like a T-R-A-P with our names on it," Jack grumbled as he tore through the gravel roads. "First we tail her to the bar, then the airport. What's next, Taco Bell?" His comms crackled to life with a sharp retort from his boss.

"Very good, Dalton. Yes, she's heading to the drive thru right now to order their Taco Tuesday chalupa special." Jack exchanged glances with the petite blonde sitting in the passenger seat.

"Wait, is she serious, or…?"

"NO, YOU IDIOT! Nikki's currently mucking around in an auto body shop five miles from your location. So I suggest you quit whining and _track her down_ ," Matty scowled. Before Jack had the chance to protest, she added, "And, YES, Sherlock. I'm well aware that after six months of radio silence, Nikki has suddenly decided to make herself known. I need you and Cage to find out why."

"And I'm totally cool with that. But as much as I'd love to go all A-Team on little Miss Mindbreaker, I'm not a huge fan about being used as cannon fodder for the bag and tag," Jack protested.

"Jack's got a point," Cage said. "If Nikki's set this whole thing up, then she'll be expecting us."

"More like shooting at us," hedged the driver under his breath. His words did not go unnoticed by the demanding presence in command at Phoenix HQ.

"I don't care if she's waiting to sell you Girl Scout cookies! She's one of the top black market arms dealers on our radar, and Phoenix needs her in custody. This might be the last chance we have at taking her alive."

"Yeah, yeah, copy that. But don't come crying to me when Phoenix complains about bullet holes in the upholstery." Jack cut comms with Matty with a sigh. "Alright, partner. Any ideas on how we want to pull this off? Cuz I'm not too keen on missing out on Taco Tuesday just because some gal decided to hole up in—" Jack squinted at the billboard that passed by "—Mac and Bozer's Body Shop. Aw, c'mon, even the shop name is boring!" Cage rubbed her chin in thought.

"Nikki wants us to see something, which means she won't make a move until that happens."

"So…what? We just walk through the front door?" he joked, slowing down as he approached the street leading to the shop. He waited for Cage to join in, but was met with silence. "Hold on! You don't actually think we should just waltz right up to the front door, do you?" His companion shrugged.

"I've read Nikki's entire file, Jack. If there's one thing she loves, it's an audience. She wouldn't go through this much trouble to get our attention unless she had a very good reason." The woman pried the gun from her holster. "Besides, if she had snipers on us, we would've been dead already."

"Oh, well that just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Maybe we should've brought flowers and a cake. You know, as a "Congratulations, we're arresting you, but please thanks for sparing us" kind of thing." Jack turned onto the adjacent road and cruised into the parking lot of the body shop, killing the engine. The lights to the shop were on, illuminating the muddy gravel underfoot. Jack tapped Cage's arm and nodded toward the entrance. "I'll take point. Watch the roof." Cage nodded in affirmation and the duo made quick work entering the building, Glocks held aloft.

Jack saw a sandy-haired youth collasped on the floor, clothing soiled from body shop chemicals, and face scrunched in pain. He trained his gun on the employee for a half second before approaching and signaled to Cage from behind his back to clear the area. She silently obeyed, checking the back office and attached garage for any signs of their primary target.

"Hey, I'm gonna take a closer look at you, brother. No sudden moves or else you'll be talking through a mouthful of lead. Capisce?" No answer. Jack prodded him, rather roughly, with the toe of his boot. "Hey, man. Don't play games with me. Do you understand or not?" The blue eyes opened slowly, staring unseeing at the tiled floor that met his cheek. The operative gave him another 'persuasive' prod. "Dude, you're really starting to freak me out. Just work with me, man." The youth took in a sharp intake of breath and groaned against another wave of pain. Jack hesitated, cursed, hesitated again, then jammed the gun into its holster and knelt by the shivering victim. He rested a sturdy hand on the blonde's shoulder. "I swear, if you're playing opossum, you've got another thing coming." Silence. Jack pressed a hand against the clammy cheek.

"All clear," Cage said. She returned to the waiting room with her weapon still drawn. "No sign of Nikki. Looks like she's long gone. How's he holding up?"

"Well, he's…uh, breathing," came Jack's lame response. He opened the comm link, hoping beyond hope that Matty wasn't waiting on pins and needles on the other line…

No suck luck.

"Please tell me you've got Nikki Carpenter in handcuffs."

"About that…"

"JACK."

"Hey now! Not my fault, okay? She'd bolted way before Cage and I decided to crash the party. Let's just forget for a second that a criminal mastermind got away, and focus on the here and now. Like how she totally worked over this guy from the shop. He's in pretty rough shape."

"Well, a _name_ would certainly be helpful, seeing as this 'guy' is now the last lead we have to Nikki Carpenter," Matty replied waspishly. Thankfully Cage intervened before Jack could counter with another bitey exchange.

"It says "Mac" on his uniform. Presumably Angus MacGyver, co-owner of the body shop."

"His injuries?" Matty inquired. Jack shrugged, despite the fact that his boss couldn't see the action.

"Not sure. Dude's completely out of it." He waved his hand in front of Mac's face, inches from the half-opened eyes that stared into nothing. "Hello? Mac? Angus? Big Mac? It's just your friendly, neighborhood team of undercover agents who want to know where Nikki went." Jack snapped his fingers. "C'mon, buddy. Chop, chop. Blonde woman, blue eyes, creepy smile. Ring any bells?" He sighed. "Sorry, Matty. Mac over here is probably in shock or—"

"Mindbroken," Matty stated flatly. "Nikki's a known Mindbreaker. It's possible."

"I've never seen a Mindbreak this strong before," Cage said. She peered at Mac's prone figure with a frown. "This is bad. Really bad. Matty, we need immediate medical assistance."

"Hey! Am I missing something here?" Jack asked as he shrugged off his jacket and placed it underneath Mac's head as an impromptu pillow.

"Whatever Nikki did to him goes beyond the scope of what I've seen in the field. If I had to guess, I'd say she Mindbreaked Mac against his will."

"WHAT?!"

"And then voided the Mindbreak not long after."

 _"WHAT?!"_ Jack glared at the kid with unbridled fury. Mindbreaking without consent was bad enough, but voiding one so soon after the bond? They were lucky Angus's heart hadn't stopped.

Cage locked eyes with Jack and held his gaze. "He's going to need another Mindbreaker. And fast."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, let's not jump to conclusions, here! ANOTHER Mindbreaker? Dude, his brain's already been fried. I don't know if our boy here can even handle Round Two."

"Cage is right. It's the only way we can reverse the damage, assuming there's anything left to repair," came Matty's reply. Jack focused on the unsteady rise and fall of the young man's chest and shook his head.

"You know, they didn't push Humpty Dumpty off the wall a second time after he splattered all over the ground. Just saying."

"No one asked for your opinion, Jack. Cage, status. How long does Angus MacGyver have left until we lose our window?" The blonde knelt by MacGyver's side and placed a gentle hand on his flushed forehead. Her blue eyes caught the subtle nuances as his body tensed in silent agony. She withdrew her hand with a sigh.

"My best guess? He has maybe an hour before his body shuts down. And that's assuming his low-grade fever doesn't spike."

"That settles it. Jack, bring Angus MacGyver back to Phoenix ASAP. I'll have our medical staff on standby," Matty ordered. "Cage, hold your position. It looks like blondie sent a message to a certain Wilt Bozer before the Mindbreak went down. We're tracking his movements now. He'll be at the shop in ten."

While Matty and Cage discussed the finer details of Bozer's meet-and-greet, Jack dutifully hoisted the limp body into his arms with a grunt. He grimaced as grease from the youth's coveralls caked the ribbing of his Kevlar.

"I'm putting this on your tab, brother. Along with a bucket of cold beers." Jack carried his new burden to the car, praying that the roads were free of hidden patrolmen and ignorant drivers because he planned on hauling ass back to HQ and breaking at least ten traffic violations along the way. He gently placed the feverish body in the backseat. "Hold on, kiddo. Just a couple miles of highway between you and a healthy dose of morphine."

By the time the duo reached the Think Tank's underground parking garage, Jack's sickly cargo had gone from bad to worse to probably-sorta-nearly dead. The blonde was wheezing with each tortured breath, his hair plastered to his forehead as the temperature within him soared to dangerous heights. Jack forced the car to a harsh stop and ushered the medical staff over.

The professionals lifted Mac onto a stretcher and injected an unknown substance into the crook of his arm. Jack hoped it was the strongest painkiller they had in their arsenal, FDA approved or otherwise. He followed the team into the bowels of the medical wing long enough to see them wheel the kid into a private room. He leaned against the nearest wall and scrubbed a hand across his face, failing to register the approaching footsteps until a brunette stopped just short of his dusted boots.

"How's our new arrival?" Matty inquired. Jack let his hand drop to his side.

"Not good. He torpedoed the second I hit city limits." Matty chose not to comment and, instead, gestured to an empty room.

"Jack. Let's talk." When he didn't immediately move, she added curtly, " _Now_." The operative reluctantly followed and flopped into a conservative waiting room chair with a childish groan. Matty shut the door with a sharp click, trapping him in a one-on-one he would rather push off until after a long nap, a warm shower and a steak and eggs breakfast combo. In that order.

"This is all well and good, Matty, but can't this wait until after a nap, a shower—"

"No. It can't." So much for steak and eggs. "That man in there—our ONLY solid link to Nikki Carpenter—is currently fighting for his life. And, quite honestly, it's a toss up whether he'll even survive until morning." A long pause, then: "Jack, he needs a Mindbreaker."

"Okay, did you totally forget about that Humpty Dumpty reference I made earlier, or—"

" _JACK_. There's only one Mindbreaker currently available who's capable of fixing whatever damage Nikki caused. And I think you know who."

Jack blinked. The pit of his stomach dropped as he suddenly realized the intended direction of Matty's heart-to-heart.

"I can't," he shot back, despite his superior's frown of disapproval. "Hear me out, Matty. You KNOW why. Remember Cairo? YEAH. We don't talk about Cairo. And we especially don't talk about me being a VIP member of the Mindbreaker club."

"You're one of Phoenix's highest ranking Mindbreakers on the payroll. Level Delta," Matty countered.

"Yeah, well, I'm not about to put my faith in a bunch of brainwaves and MRI scans just because a doc in a monkey suit looked at my head and said, 'Let's classify this guy a Delta!'" This earned him another steely glare.

"Like it or not, and as _unbelievable_ as it would seem, you're Angus MacGyver's last chance." Matty put her hands on her hips, the equivalent of staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. "Let's be clear. This Mindbreak isn't a request."

"And as much as I'd like to fix whatever Jedi mind tricks Nikki cooked up, I'm not your guy. Can't Cage call in one of her Mindbreaker buddies?"

"We both know that MacGyver doesn't have that kind of time," Matty retorted. Her voice softened ever so slightly at her next choice of words. "Understand that I wouldn't be putting you in this position if I didn't have a choice. I know your past experience with Mindbreaking was less than ideal…but this isn't Cairo."

"Well it's starting to _feel_ like Cairo, minus the homemade bomb strapped to yours truly," he muttered with a roll of his shoulders. "And I seem to recall that after that op, government big wigs revoked my Mindbreaker license."

"Consider it reinstated." Matty urged him to his feet despite Jack's protests. "You have the opportunity to save someone's life tonight, so I suggest you get over yourself and take it. You have twelve hours to salvage what you can of MacGyver's mind."

Twelve hours. The last Mindbreak Jack attempted had only lasted three. Before Jack could object any further, Matty cut him off with another patented glare. "If I had it my way, it'd be a twenty four hour job. But, as it stands, you have until daylight. Assuming he even lasts that long."

"What makes you think I can even do anything for him? He's probably skipping down the rabbit hole as we speak," the operative hedged, even as the duo made their way to MacGyver's room through the sea of medical personnel.

"Because I've never known you to leave a man behind. And something tells me you don't plan to start now." The rare compliment bolstered Jack's resolve as he neared the young man's bedside and stared at the lifeless body before him. He cracked his knuckles and popped his neck from side to side.

"Okay, just gotta Mindbreak this guy for a few hours. No biggie. No pressure." He pulled up a chair and rested a hand on MacGyver's bare forearm, trying to fight the fear carving through his gut. Jack then turned to Matty with a ghost of his usual grin. "See you in twelve hours, boss."


	3. Chapter 3

Jack propped the radio next to the hearty campfire and hummed the last few verses of the AC/DC song blaring through the speakers. He leaned back in a lawn chair and let his gaze wander to the streaks of pink and gold across the waning sky. Without looking over his shoulder, he knew that the old farmhouse and its accompanying scent of fresh apple pie stood warm and inviting while the crickets prepared another round of song.

All in all, his little patch of personal heaven wasn't too shabby. He'd loved his grandfather's farm as a boy. It was where his old man had taught him how to shoot, hunt, and appreciate a hard day's work. He gave a nod of thanks to the lone cowboy hat hanging on one of the fence posts.

"Glad to know you're here with me, pops," Jack said, finding solace in the merry crackling of the fire. He took a poker and shifted the logs. "So, get this. I gotta Mindbreak this poor kiddo AND try to glue his noggin back together. Honestly, I don't even know if it's possible." Another jab to the seared wood, harder this time. "I never learned any of that kind of stuff when I registered as a Mindbreaker. It was all about 'respecting your Buddy' and 'making a path for your Buddy' and basically doing everything to NOT harm your Buddy. I'm in way over my head here, pops. I think Phoenix forgot for a second that I'm the dumb one. You know, the bag-'em-tag-'em kinda guy." Jack stood, poker still in hand. "Maybe if Angus gives me something to work with, like an arcade or firing range or something cool like that, I could swing it. What do you think? You figure I can save the kid before things go south?" He grinned and winked at the cowboy hat. "Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. Time to stop stalling and get to work. First things first. Gotta find Big Mac's focal point."

Jack left the comfort of the fire and strolled across the farmyard. Despite the distance, the AC/DC album kept a steady cadence, as though the entire property had fully functioning surround sound. He peered around the old barn, scanned the chicken coop, and gave the garden a once over. Nothing out of place.

"You just can't make this easy, can you, tough guy?" he grumbled, crossing his arms. He gave the yard a second walkthrough before returning semi-defeated to the unchanged campfire. He flopped back into the lawn chair, watching the ribbon of golds and pinks paint the pasture.

"Wait a second." Jack squinted against the waning light as he caught a glimpse of _something_. And it definitely didn't belong in Jack's makeshift paradise. "Atta boy, Angus. That's what I'm talking about!" The agent bolted from the campfire, fire poker at the ready, and approached the pasture gate.

The rusted metal was covered with layers of crystallized ice. He peered at the encased padlock suspended in a thick sheet of frost and gave it an experimental tap. The poker bounced off the shiny surface, leaving barely a scratch in its wake. The padlock and its corresponding number pad remained unaffected.

"Aw, crap." Jack knelt in front of the gate and stared at the frozen obstacle in disgust. This wasn't just Nikki Carpenter performing a sloppy Mindbreak. This was a well-crafted, deliberate, damned meticulous Mindbreak. She'd targeted the focal point—the 'gateway' (no pun intended) of Angus MacGyver's mind—and completely sabotaged it. Out of all the rules governing Buddy safety, protecting the focal point came at the top of the list.

Which meant this ice had to go.

And, unfortunately, he couldn't just Matrix a flamethrower into existence to help thaw Arendelle.

"Hold on, man. I've got an idea," Jack said, more to himself than the sorry mechanic who lay somewhere beyond the crippled gate. He hefted the fire poker over his shoulder and flashed a smirk at the cowboy hat. "Yeah, yeah. I know, pops. But lame ideas are better than nothin' at all." With that, he swung the iron as hard as he could and slammed it against the icy exterior of the padlock. The structure shuddered, but the ice held steadfast. Jack hit it again. And again. On the fourth try, a small crack appeared and the operative stood back to admire the small victory. "Looks like little Nikki underestimated ol' Jack. And the power of good music." He nodded his head in time to the steady bass of the next AC/DC track then took another shot with the fire poker.

While he worked, literally chipping away the remnants of Nikki's stormageddon, Jack pondered what mind he was…well… _breaking_ into. He had no idea what kind of personality he'd find beyond the borders of his grandfather's farm. Because Mindbreaks weren't just zippidy-do-da, sunshine and rainbows. They were _personal_. And, despite Jack's willingness to help his fellow man from the second Ice Age, he wasn't exactly looking forward to breaking bread with a stranger around a kumbaya campfire, either.

Well, at least he thought that's how Mindbreaks generally worked. Jack swore as the fire poker ricocheted off the icy padlock for the upteempth time. With only one semi-successful Mindbreak under his belt, he still didn't trust himself to be the best man for this crusade.

Besides, there was a reason why performing unofficial Mindbreaks—even life-saving ones—were one-way tickets to an orange jumpsuit and a shiny set of prison bars.

Jack pushed the buzzing thoughts aside as he continued to pummel the spider-webbed cracks surrounding the padlock. A solid chunk of ice finally fell away, revealing the outline of the number pad underneath. Jack paused to shake his tiring arms.

"Hang in there, Angus. Not long now, brother."

He worked tirelessly for the next half hour, slowly stripping ice from the heavy lock. By the time he'd completed the monstrous task, he was gasping from the effort, his drenched shirt a testament of his labor. The operative tossed the fire poker to the side and ignored the way his hands and shoulders continued to ache. He then knelt by the padlock and wiped a film of frost away to expose the number code. He punched in the numerical sequence, 101311, then tore the lock and its intertwining chain away from the pasture gate. He'd freed the pathway to Angus MacGyver's mind. Now came the hard part.

"Better get the toolbox," Jack decided. He stumbled wearily to the barn and carried his dad's toolbox back to the gate, giving the old hat a thankful nod. He rested a bare hand on the rusted metal and slowly pried the door open. "All right, Angus. Let's do this." He took a deep, steadying breath then stepped past the gate and into the threshold of Angus's mind.

A deep-set chill hit his skin like a thousand stinging needles as the pasture receded. Jack staggered through the subzero degree water pooling around his ankles and tried to stop his teeth from chattering.

"Jeezus, kid," he muttered. Weak sunlight trickled in from broken windows that arched from floor to ceiling as he stood within an industrial warehouse trapped under a thick layer of frost.

"Hey, Angus, man, you there?" No response. He took a few steps forward through the icy water. "Dude, that Nikki gal's long gone. I'm one of the good guys. See?" He lifted his toolbox for emphasis. "I'm here to patch you up, but it's gonna take both of us, okay?" Jack cast a wary glance around the darkened room as he fished a flashlight out of his toolbox. The halogen beam illuminated a path to the opposite wall, exposing rows upon rows of fallen filing cabinets halfway submerged in a seemingly endless sea. The icy water crested against the rectangular objects; closer inspection revealed the cabinets themselves were completely frozen over, barring any admittance to their contents. Jack swung the flashlight's beam in a wide arc, the same scene greeting him in every direction. Still no sign of the mechanic. "I'm not here to hurt you, buddy." He hesitated, unsure how to proceed when he was met with silence again. Perhaps the kid was hiding?

"Well, do you at least have a jacket or sweater or something around here? My place isn't exactly stocked for winter," Jack added. He tried to rub some feeling into his hands, too cold to do any extensive recon other than the obvious.

The filing cabinets. This kid had a thing about organization. An obsession, really. Probably the type of guy who folded his socks before putting them in the drawer so they'd always have a matching pair. Ugh. Leave it to him to get Mind-partnered with some uber nerd.

An uber nerd that only had a short window before this frigid, internal frost stopped his heart completely. Jack grimaced. He called for Angus a second time, but only received his own feeble echo in return.

Apparently Plan A was out of the question. Jack didn't exactly know what he was expecting, but it wasn't an empty husk of a mind. He figured he'd talk to Angus and convince him to wake up somehow. Not wade through arctic water in a destroyed warehouse. "Okay, man. I can't find you, so if you can hear me, just know that I'm not gonna harm you. I'm just gonna…uh, tidy up around here." Time for Plan B. Jack dug around in his toolbox until he came across a pair of thick, rawhide gloves and set to work.

He trudged to the nearest row of discarded filing cabinets and crouched to lift the first ice-encased metallic popsicle. He struggled to maintain his grip on the slippery surface and nearly dropped the offending item on his soaked boots. With effort, the Texan managed to upright the towering structure, ignoring the way the skin on his bare arms burned red from the cold.

"Man, what do you have in these things?" Jack mumbled to himself as he lifted a few more cabinets, trying to line them up as best he could. It wasn't perfect, but Angus didn't need perfect—just enough functionality to pull out of Nikki's snow globe. Anything the kid didn't like, he could always rearrange later.

After two tidied rows, Jack's foot snagged on a hidden stack of odds and ends. He dropped to all fours in the water and the angry chill immediately stole the breath from his lungs. He stumbled upright and tried to will the tremors to stop through a series of colorful curse words. Jack longingly eyed the steel door he'd entered that led back to his grandfather's farm. It would be so easy. He could retreat and curl up in front of the ever-burning fire.

But then he'd sever the link with Angus. Do that, and he might as well sign the kiddo's death certificate himself.

"Grow up, Jack. It's not that cold," he hissed through clenched teeth. He forced his body to the nearest cabinet and rammed his shoulder into the side. "Just get a few more up. Then blondie can jump in and do the rest himself."

Jack worked in silence, missing the steady AC/DC cadence he usually took for granted. At intervals he stole a glance at the remaining rows thrown in disarray. He counted at least a dozen rows with countless cabinets strewn in-between. The task was overwhelming. Exhausted, he knocked against the side of one of the corrected cabinets.

"Hey, Angus! Buddy, my hands are about to freeze off over here! Seriously, we need to tag team on this. I'll take this row, you take the next row. Whaddaya say? Sound fair?" The silence confirmed that, no, it wasn't fair. Jack slumped against the frosted metal and tried to breathe some warmth back into his aching hands.

Honestly, how many filing cabinets did one kid need?! All Jack had was a barn, a chicken coop and a farmhouse, none of which had anything stored in any particular order. But Angus and his filing system went way beyond just matching socks. Everything had been neatly catalogued in assigned cabinets, their purpose inked in tidy scrawl across the exterior labels. They ranged from the commonplace to the bizarre—chocolate chip cookie recipes to coral reef species—and followed a meticulous number system that put Jack's simple numeric padlock to shame.

Despite his best efforts, he'd been too late to salvage the contents of five cabinets so far. Nikki's maelstrom had cracked their outer casings, causing water to seep inside and soak pages and pages of knowledge. He'd managed to save a fire truck red folder amidst the wreckage, but watermarks had smeared most of the handwriting. Jack could vaguely pick out a name and affiliation. Another MacGyver, presumably the kid's father. He'd wiped down the sodden contents as best as he could with his equally sodden clothes and set the folder down on a long workman's bench. After another short reprieve, he'd returned to lifting metallic rectangles off the floor until his knees gave out.

Too exhausted to curse, Jack instead began to take stock in his health. He moved his fingers and toes to encourage circulation. If he didn't leave Angus's mind soon, he'd be putting his own life in danger. He once again resisted the temptation to return to his hearty campfire. He wasn't finished yet. Sure, the ice from the filing cabinets was starting to melt and the sunlight was growing stronger, but…

It wasn't enough. Jack couldn't leave in good conscience knowing that he hadn't done everything possible to bring the poor mechanic back. Matty was right. He couldn't leave a man behind. The agent stood with renewed vigor and started flipping cabinets upright again despite his bodily protests.

"Angus, now would be a REALLY good time to give me a hand!" Jack barked, frustration building. When his gloves became so saturated as to become useless, he peeled them off and kept going. He continued until his legs could carry him no longer and he collapsed into the water. His vision blurred as a ringing replaced the pounding in his ears. "Oh, crap." Jack held his hand in front of his face, watching his blotchy skin fade then come back into focus. It was hypnotizing, almost pulling him away from the warehouse and its wintry chill. He'd been pumped full of sedatives. Matty wanted to force him to end the Mindbreak. Either he'd reached the twelve hour limit or his body had reached a limit of its own. Despite this, Jack resisted. He obstinately made his way to a fallen storage unit, realizing slow seconds later that it was tilted strangely, almost like it had landed on something. Or someone.

"JEEZUS, Angus!" Jack cried as he caught a glimpse of ragged blue coveralls beneath the gray metal. The blonde was lying on his back, his head propped against a pile of rubble, eyes closed and face ashen. Jack shoved the heavy cabinet off the young man's chest. He swayed as he gave Angus's shoulders a rough shake. "Wake up, buddy. C'mon. Wake up!" Jack tried to blink past the dots in his vision. His body betrayed him and slumped against a wall of steel until his world went dark.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack opened his eyes to a familiar white room, hand still resting on the clammy skin of MacGyver's arm. For a brief, blessed second, he felt numbly content, until the ceiling started to tilt and his body pitched toward the floor. A pair of hands grabbed him and stopped his descent, even as his lethargic body sagged under the grip. He thought he heard his name, but the words sounded garbled and distant. Even if he wanted to speak, he felt locked in place. Frozen.

Cold. He was so damn cold.

The hum of voices were back again, blending into a confusing mix of white noise that hurt worse than that hangover he had two weeks ago after binging on mama juanas. Jack lurched forward and threw up over the pristine tiles. Despite his humiliating montage, the room continued to spin and the operative closed his eyes to ward off the second bout of nausea.

He must've slid to the floor and crumpled in his own puddle of bile, because the next thing he knew, a slender figure had crouched next to him and placed a caring hand on the side of his face. The touch felt like an electric shock and he jerked away from the painful contact. The woman was talking—Cage?—but Jack couldn't concentrate on her speech. Not when a sudden rush of new personnel surrounded him and increased the white noise to staggering heights.

His shirt and jacket were stripped away, despite his weak effort to keep the material close to his chest. He was cold, dammit, couldn't they see that? Another touch to his face, a wet cloth of some kind. Jack flinched and fought against the searing pain that rocked his skull. He was fairly certain he threw up a second time, possibly over someone's shoes, but felt too pathetic to care. Unless they were Matty's shoes.

Oh shit. Were those Matty's shoes?!

Well, great, now he couldn't relax until he figured out if he'd royally desecrated Matty's footwear or not. Jack craned his head around and almost passed out from the motion. How hard could it be to find one pair of black slip ons?

Jack started heaving and wondered how he could be freezing while dripping with sweat. And then—well, double shit. Now he had to pee. He'd already upchucked twice and rolled around in his own stomach contents. No WAY was he gonna pee on himself, not when he was stripped down to next to nothing. Jack fought the urge to puke again. He was vaguely aware of being transported somewhere, but his groggy mind decided not to fill in the blanks.

Mac. Was Mac okay? Jack felt a little guilty for not thinking of the mechanic sooner. Obviously, the poor guy was more important than a pair of shoes.

But he needed his paycheck to buy more mama juanas, not replace some top-of-the-line fancy pantsy little ballet slippers or whatever they were.

No, c'mon, Jack. Think of the kid. Had he done enough to free him? Had any of the filing cabinets fallen over again? Had he even spared the kid's life?

If he wasn't half naked, puking, and possibly going into shock, he could really go for a mama juana right about now.

As it so happened, Jack lost consciousness before he could complete his next thought and came to a questionable amount of time later. Wearing fresh clothes. With no urge to pee.

Sometimes Jack really hated his life.

He blinked the bleary world into focus and grimaced at the sizeable headache that ravished his temples.

"Jack?" Cage said from a chair by his bedside. She pocketed the smart phone in her hand. Jack raised a weary hand in a mock wave.

"Howdy, partner."


	5. Chapter 5

Mac was lying on his back in three inches of water when he felt the first stirrings of consciousness. Shards of misshapen ice drifted sluggishly around him, pushed outward by an invisible current. The crystal clear water was borderline chilly; however, the temperature seemed to increase slightly with every breath, almost as if the current was washing away the remnants of his frozen mind…

Mac sat up slowly and stared in utter amazement. The filing cabinets had returned to their rightful places, tucked neatly into symmetrical rows. Water dribbled down their steel exteriors, the ice cracking under the heat's intensity. His thoughts came together slowly as he tried to work out what was happening. Heat? He stood and trudged cautiously toward the closest cabinet. He reached for one of the handles, but the cascading liquid gave him pause. Why? Why would Nikki release him? Had she given him back his life? His memories? He pulled his hand away, suddenly afraid to touch the inanimate object. This didn't make sense. Mac closed his eyes and tried to think back. She had ordered him to retract the gate and then…oh, no. Please no. Not the Lincoln.

"Please tell me I didn't…Dad, I-I don't know…" Mac babbled nearly incoherently, his heart aching as his recollection continued to fail him. "What did she make me do? I didn't want to give her your vehicle, but…Dad, I can't remember. Help me, please, I—"

"Come on, blondie, don't keep me waiting. Wake up." A tart, authoritative woman's voice cut through his brain and he flinched before realizing the voice did not belong to Nikki. He tentatively expanded his awareness. "That's it, Goldilocks."

Mac was greeted with a searing white room when he opened his eyes. Ivory paint covered the walls, ceiling and floor, even extending to the closed metallic door on his right. Soft, pearl-white sheets draped across his legs and upper torso. His hands trembled as he lifted the sheets and hesitantly examined his new wardrobe. His worn coveralls had been replaced with a short sleeved, open-back gown the exact shade of first fallen snow. The comparison made him grimace.

"Welcome back to the land of the living." The same voice returned, impatience lacing the unorthodox greeting. The woman was tastefully dressed with dark brunette hair and a sour expression that left Mac feeling genuinely uncomfortable. Well, more like petrified. Perhaps a little bit of both. "Must've been a hell of a dream you were having. You almost woke up the entire floor with all your moaning."

"Hell is about right," Mac muttered, surprised when his voice came out weak and gravely. He coughed, unprepared for the burning sensation that engulfed his throat. The woman glared at him minutely before passing him a Styrofoam cup full of ice chips, which he gratefully accepted.

"You've been running a fever the past few days. It's only just begun to break. It'll take a while before your temperature returns to normal. No wonder you've been dreaming about hell."

Mac waited for his coughing to subside before he shook his head. "No," he corrected quietly, "Hell isn't hot. It's cold."

Her eyes narrowed. "Is that so?" It wasn't exactly a question and Mac chose not to elaborate. She stood from the glossy white stool by his side and walked to the foot of his bed. "I'm Matilda Webber, Director of Operations. You can call me Matty."

Mac had at first assumed she was a charge nurse or something of the like, but now he wasn't so sure. What kind of 'Operations' did she oversee? And if she wasn't a hospital employee, who was she? "Okay…uh, Director, I'm—"

"Angus MacGyver, self-proclaimed golden boy who was enrolled in M.I.T. by the age of seventeen. You left your studies to pursue a second-rate existence as a mechanic, trying and failing to promote an auto repair business that's slowly but inevitably tanking in today's economy." She crossed her arms. "How am I doing so far?"

He could only stare in mute horror, alarmed that this stranger had somehow acquired intimate knowledge of his past. His silence only spurred Matty onward. "Your affinity for chemistry and engineering seems to have taken a backseat since going into business with your childhood acquaintance, Wilt Bozer. He may lack direction, but at least he has some ambition. Although I will say he's ill-suited for a film career."

Mac nearly dropped the Styrofoam cup in his hand at the mention of his friend. "Wait, Bozer? How do you know Bozer? What's going on?"

"You tinkered in the shop in your limited free time. You learned how to hot-wire cars and drive stick shift…but most importantly, you worked on restoring an old automobile that your father bought before his mysterious disappearance fifteen years ago."

"Hey, you can't—"

"You planned on taking your father out in his 1965 Lincoln Continental when he finally came back home. You've been planning his homecoming since you were twelve—"

"Enough!" Mac yelled, throat seizing in pain at the outburst. A thousand comebacks came to mind, but he was unable to properly articulate his fury at the mention of his missing father. Fortunately, Matilda Webber easily followed his train of thought.

"Listen, blondie. I'm not trying to rile you up. I'm just stating the facts: you cherished that car with every fiber of your being. Restoration was nearly complete when you relinquished it to a woman you barely knew. We want to know why."

He breathed heavily, using the ice chips to stall for time as he crafted his response. Tears threatened to cloud his vision as a wave of guilt washed over him. So, he _had_ given Nikki the Lincoln. Mac felt weak. Pathetic. He placed the cup on a maneuverable tray to his right and sat up straighter. "So, I'm guessing this isn't a hospital. Where am I?"

"Somewhere safe," she replied curtly.

"And Bozer?"

"Also safe. You can see him shortly."

"Really?"

"After answering a few of our questions."

Mac's shoulders slumped. Matty sighed and approached his side once more. He noticed that her face had dropped a fraction of its hardened edge.

"I'll answer all your questions in due time. But first you have to answer mine. This woman you allowed into your shop—"

"Nikki," Mac interjected automatically. The Director nodded.

"Yes, Nikki. We've been tailing her for a while and you're our first substantial lead in months." She paused, then added, "I don't need to remind you how dangerous she is, do I?"

Mac visibly shuddered at the memory of Nikki and her agonizing Mindbreak.

"I don't know how much help I can be. After she…she got into my mind and I…I don't…"

"It's okay if there are memory gaps. That's to be expected. You've survived a traumatic experience and I wouldn't ask you to relive this encounter if it wasn't a matter of national security." He nodded, staring at his hands. He tugged distractedly at the hospital-esque band encircling his wrist. Name and date of birth correct. No mention of his current location, however. It didn't really even matter if he could trust Matty or not; whatever organization she was with was apparently holding Bozer, and he wouldn't be able to free his friend unless he played by their rules.

"I'll tell you anything you want to know."

"Atta boy, blondie. I'll fetch Cage and we can begin."

His heart raced at the mention of a new name. "Cage?"

Matty's smile was eerily shark-like against the room's blinding whiteness. "Samantha Cage. My associate. She's an expert interrogator, so don't expect to lie to her and get away with it." Mac gulped. Who _were_ these people? Matty turned smartly and exited without a second glance. He heard the beep of an electronic locking panel after the door snapped shut, a further reminder that he was in a scarily secure facility and in way over his head. He glanced around the impossibly white room that reminded him so much of cold and ice and utter helplessness and yelled again, this time in frustration. He launched a particularly large ice chip across the room and watched in dull fascination as it hit the wall and left a satisfying wet spot upon impact. He liked the idea of robbing the room of its perfectly uniform ivory color, so he threw another ice chip. And another. Again and again until the wall was covered in gray dots and the cup was empty. Mac decided to press what he supposed could pass as the call button and request more ice. His throat _was_ still pretty sore, after all.

Mac had to wait nearly an hour for Samantha Cage to grace him with her presence. He was fortunate in that working at the auto body shop had taught him the virtue of patience, otherwise he'd most certainly have been caught trying to get out of this disconcerting marshmellow room. Matty's interrogator didn't seem very threatening with her striking blonde hair and blue eyes, but Mac knew better than to judge based on appearances. Looks could be deceiving. Bozer was a good example – you'd never guess that he was hiding a tragic past beneath his jokes and unwavering charm. Mac always envied Bozer's natural charisma that made people gravitate towards him almost effortlessly. Mac was a different case altogether. Bullied in high school then again at M.I.T. for his tendency to 'show-off' and his 'know-it-all' personality, he'd never really found his niche outside of Bozer's friendship. That was part of the reason why he'd abandoned his studies and carved out a simpler, but altogether happier existence at the body shop. Now he wondered if he'd ever be able to go back.

"You called for more ice chips?" an accented voice lilted lightly as Cage crossed the threshold and passed another Styrofoam cup into his hands. She glanced at the adjacent wall and cocked an eyebrow at the miniature puddles of water on the floor. "I hope you're not thinking of using me as target practice."

"Scout's honor, it really is for my throat," Mac wheezed, breath hitching slightly as his esophagus burned in protest. He massaged his neck futilely as if the action could dispel the unpleasant sensation. "I don't even know why it's so sore."

"Our guess is that you did a lot of screaming after the Mindbreak. But right now, we're more interested in the events leading up to that moment."

Mac sucked on some ice chips and swallowed the refreshingly cool liquid. He didn't remember screaming. He hoped it was from hurling profanities at Nikki Carpenter as she absconded with his father's legacy rather than just animalistic howls of pain. "Can I write out what happened?" Cage shook her head before he'd even finished his question.

"I'm sorry, but I can't let you do that. It's a lot easier to tell if you're lying when I can hear your voice." Cage must have seen the bewilderment on his face, because she quickly added, "Don't worry. You seem to be a stand-up guy, Mac. Just start from the beginning."

"And then I can see Bozer?"

The blonde's mouth quirked upwards in a semblance of a smile. "Of course."

Left with no further options, Mac cleared his throat and began speaking. Numerous attacks had him coughing and knocking back ice chips like a kid in a candy store, but Cage waited patiently and didn't try to interrupt. She made no move to sit and instead stood stock-still, like a picturesque statue, eyes trained across his face and hands. Mac described his initial encounter with Nikki, the security gate deployment and what he remembered from the Mindbreak. Seeing as Matty had already dug up his greatest hits, he also expanded on the personal significance of the 1965 Lincoln Continental and how he'd been ordered by Nikki to prepare it for her. When he was finished, Mac could barely string two words together. He gasped pitifully between breaths as Cage placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"You did great, Mac. That was very brave of you."

Mac was too exhausted to be embarrassed. Apparently Cage's interrogation or discussion or however it was supposed to be classified was over. It was both a relief and incredibly terrifying. These people—whatever they were, whomever they worked for—had gotten what they wanted and he wasn't quite sure where that left him and Bozer. It was unlikely they'd be killed; Matty had evidently been impressed with Bozer's potential and tolerable at best with Mac's science and engineering education. Would they let them go? Could he return to a normal life or would he constantly be monitored like a rat in a maze? And if Nikki did have plans to come back for him, what would his options be, then? Something akin to a Witness Protection Program? His father would never be able to find him if he was forced to change identities!

"You're still keeping something from me," the blonde murmured calmly, her expression unreadable. Mac sat silently, not even attempting a denial. He certainly couldn't trust these people and he needed some leverage if he wanted to remain valuable in the eyes of his captors. "Director Webber won't take kindly to any withheld information."

Mac shook his head vehemently and resisted the urge to vocally express his frustration. He'd said enough today, thank you very much, and if Cage wasn't going to provide pen and paper, then he'd just have to improvise. He unbuckled the stiff plastic wristband and positioned the pointed edge toward the side of the Styrofoam cup. Writing utensil in hand, Mac scrawled out his demands and handed the marked object to the bemused interrogator. She scanned the message without batting an eye.

"We save your life and yet you're making demands of us," Cage stated plainly, rotating the cup in her palm. "I understand your need for control. But we're not the enemies, Mac." He glared at her accusingly and refused to answer. She could take his demands to her Director if they wanted any more of his cooperation – which, he reasoned, had been pretty generous up to this point. She shrugged somewhat suspiciously and made her way to the steel-enforced door. "I see. I'll let Matilda know of your intentions so we can start the transfer to your new accommodations. Obstruction of justice, aiding and abetting a known criminal…I hope you enjoy your immediate incarceration." Mac blanched as Cage discreetly opened the door and hovered near the threshold. There was just no winning with these people.

"A…message," Mac wheezed quietly, suddenly afraid she would leave and keep true to her promise of imprisonment. "Message!" He croaked louder, throat nearly succumbing to the hot flames that seared his vocal chords. Cage casually re-entered the room and shut the door, silently signaling him to continue. He swallowed hard. "Nikki. Said she wanted to send a message. One that couldn't be given by conventional means." He crunched on some more ice chips, tired of the minimal droplets of water they provided. "I'm…I'm guessing she was referring to you people. Whoever you are." There. That was literally everything he knew. The ball was in their court now. He didn't appreciate being at the mercy of others, especially when it meant he might no longer be useful to their cause. What had he gotten Bozer into?

"Thank you, Mac. You made the right decision. Now, for our end of the bargain." Cage knocked lightly on the door, which swung open to reveal a small duffel bag. She picked up the unassuming item and deposited it at the foot of the bed. "Your clothes, freshly washed. Your other personal effects, including your phone and pocket knife, will be returned to you at a later time. Knock once you're dressed and I'll take you to see your friend." With that, Cage disappeared through the door, leaving Mac coughing pitifully in the white room.


	6. Chapter 6

Mac couldn't remember how many coveralls he owned. That was his first thought after he unzipped the duffel bag and stared down at the rugged material folded into nice, crisp edges. This one was a dark navy blue. Fabric was thinned out around the knees, leg cuffs were frayed and a side zipper fastener was no longer functional; clearly, this was an outfit he wore quite a lot. Possibly his favorite. Was this his only pair of blue coveralls? Exasperated, Mac rubbed his temples. He could remember the events leading up to the Mindbreak so clearly but…there must be pieces of his past missing. Probably trivial pieces, but pieces nonetheless. Surely the co-owner of a body shop should know the number of coveralls in his possession?

Mac took stock of the other clothing at his disposal: white undershirt, fresh socks, worn work boots. He dressed slowly, scrunching his eyes against the stark white adorning every inch of the sterile room. What else couldn't he remember? Mac exhaled sharply as nothing further came to mind. Nikki had mucked around for who knew how long in his memories and he wanted to know the extent of the damage. Unfortunately, the answers to that particular question lay outside the locked metal door.

Once presentable, Mac knocked as instructed and was granted access into the adjorning hallway. Cage was waiting for him and eyed the duffel bag dangling awkwardly in his hands. He hadn't known what to with his hospital gown, so he had zipped it up in the bag.

"Leave that here. Support staff will take care of it," the blonde stated candidly. Mac lowered the bag to the ground and followed the interrogator, who had set off down the hall at a brisk pace. Closed white doors lined the hallway every few feet until they came to a half circle composed of open cubicles and beeping monitors. A few men and women in scrubs worked diligently at assigned stations, leaving Mac to wonder if they'd lied to him about being in a hospital.

"Medical wing," Cage supplied when he asked her. "A full work force is required at all times, even when the work is slow. Lucky for you," she added with a bit more warmth. The staff must have been either very well trained or just plain disinterested; none of them even gave Mac a second glance as he passed through their various work hubs. He tried counting the number of doorways and hallways traversed, but soon gave up. The place was an absolute maze and they hadn't even left the medical part yet, assuming other wings existed.

"You're not afraid I might run for it?" he asked, his tone wary. So far he hadn't noticed any surveillance cameras and Cage had left him unbound. Not that he had seen any indication of an exit, but weren't they worried he might try to escape after meeting up with Bozer?

"Not presently. You can try if you like, but I guarantee you won't get far." They came to a set of large double doors that required an eye scan and card key entry, which Cage performed without hesitation. She shepherded him through to a dark mahogany area, the drastic contrast of color providing a refreshing change. They took a haphazardous route through a network of sparsely furnished offices and conference rooms. Money was apparently delegated to other needs besides interior design. "In here," the blonde said bluntly, stopping suddenly at a nondescript door. She cast him a small smile, which did little to calm his frayed nerves. His mind went into overdrive as she worked the electronic keypad near the entryway. What if this was a trap? What if he walked in there and came face to face with Nikki—

"MAC!" A tall figure pulled him into a crushing embrace.

"Bozer," Mac mumbled. He let his shoulders drop in relief. Bozer pulled away and examined his friend.

"It's good to see you, Mac," Bozer said. He shot Cage a not-so-subtle side glance. "First time they've let me see you in days."

Days. Mac touched the stubble on his face for confirmation.

"Yeah, well, at least you didn't wake up in a hospital gown." He grimaced at his own gravelly voice. Bozer took a step toward the interrogator and indicated the door.

"Hey, can we get a second here? No offense, but I'd like to talk to Mac without a babysitter around. And maybe, I dunno, have something else to eat besides the cafeteria meatloaf surprise?" Mac started at the words. He took in his best friend's unkempt appearance until his sluggish brain snapped the pieces together.

"Wait. Have they KEPT you here?" Bozer's silence was answer enough. Mac ignored his building headache and turned his attention to the unwanted third party in the room. "Bozer had nothing to do with Nikki!"

"Who the hell is Nikki?" Bozer asked. "And is anybody gonna tell me what happened to Mac?"

"We've placed Mr. Bozer under our protective custody for the time being," Cage replied, unfazed. "And we have yet to confirm whether or not your friend was actually Nikki's intended target."

"Seriously, what's up with this Nikki chick? And protective custody? Please. More like involuntary confinement—"

"He wasn't the target. She was after my dad's—" Mac cleared his raspy throat with effort, "—I mean, MY car. Bozer wasn't even there."

"Perhaps," Cage said dismissively, much to Mac's chagrin. "But we can't take the risk."

"Okay, did I miss something here?" Bozer grumbled as he ran a hand through his hair. "I've been locked in this room for three days straight with a TV that only gets two channels. And I'm not saying that the twenty-four hour marathon of _The Suite Life of Zack and Cody_ wasn't fun, but I've got a right to some answers. Starting with WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MAC?"

Before Cage could provide a response, the door opened and Director of Operations Matilda Webber entered without preamble. She glanced at Mac and Bozer with the stony frown she was famous for.

"Good, you're both here. I need to catch you up to speed on the most recent developments. Then we'll talk about your future."

Mac spoke first, disregarding the invisible pecking order that placed him and Bozer at the bottom of the roost. "I want to know about that woman. Nikki. And I have a right to know where she took my car."

"Yeah! What he sa—"

"Shut up, Bozer," the Director scowled as she took her place at the front of the room. She shot Cage a pointed look. "Get Dalton. Now." Cage nodded curtly and left, shutting the door behind her. Matty swung her gaze back to her targets. "I don't have time to mince words with you two. _Sit_." Despite their earlier bravado, the men scrambled to a rather lumpy looking couch and obediently took a seat. Matty tossed them each a hefty manual.

"Mindbreaking 101," the brunette said by way of explanation. "If you want access to anything outside this room, I suggest you earn it." Mac winced at another burst of pain from the lingering headache while Bozer pushed the thick article to the opposite end of the couch.

"I want a lawyer."

"And I want to win the lottery, but that's not gonna happen, Sparky," Matty spat. "Let me make this perfectly clear. The minute you stepped foot inside this building, you entered foreign territory. You're not on United States ground. In fact, this square footage doesn't belong to any known country. Which means you don't get a lawyer. You don't get rights. You follow our laws or you simply disappear. Plain and simple."


	7. Chapter 7

Jack didn't show up to the impromptu Mindbreaking class, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Matty when Cage returned empty-handed. She ordered Cage to oversee Bozer and Mac while she hunted down the buffoon herself. She found him wandering the corridors – out of bed against medical advice – in a T-shirt and sweatpants making a beeline to the in-house coffee shop.

"Why do you do this?" Matty scowled as she followed Jack's sulking figure. He butted in front of some over-caffeinated computer techs and rang the little bell on the counter.

"Do what?"

"Avoid me with coffee."

"Can't a man just get a cup of Joe in peace? Why does everything have to have a double meaning with you? I mean, I'M not being weird. YOU'RE being weird."

"Hey, you cut in front of me!" one of the techies wailed, which went largely unheeded by both parties.

"Look, Jack. I don't want this conversation any more than you do, but it's a necessity we can't avoid. So I suggest you stop moping around and pay attention." Jack ignored her and rang the bell a second time until the barista appeared, apron in hand.

"Coffee. Black." He slapped a few crumpled bills on the counter.

The server behind the register hesitated. "If you order our cappuccino coconut chocolate glaze special and the maple almond sliced mango muffin, we'll give you ten bonus points on your loyalty punch card—" Jack cast him a dark glare until the man sprung to action. "Right. Coffee. Black. Coming right up."

Jack accepted the beverage and flopped down into a chair next to the window. Matty took a seat across from him and pursed her lips.

"How's the coffee?" she asked flatly. He took a healthy swig out of pure spite.

"Oh, yeah. Strong. Just how I like it," Jack lied. He took another drink and nearly spat the mouthful back up. "Wow. That must've been a fresh bag of coffee beans. That is STRONG." He paused, then added, "Well, you know. Not like STRONG strong, cuz I've had stronger, let me tell you—"

Matty ended the sad monologue by smashing a manila envelope into her subordinate's nose.

"There's been a reorganization of your team, Jack. Cage has already been informed seeing as you were nearly comatose for two days. My advice? Read the file."

Jack took another obnoxious sip.

"Don't bother. I already know." Matty cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. And I know that I should be thanking you and all that jazz, but, honestly, it was nothing. Like you said, I'm not the type of guy who would leave his fellow man behind." Matty opened her mouth to speak, but the Delta continued, undeterred. "And YES, I'll accept the promotion. I mean, I would've been fine NOT getting a raise, but, hey, I'm not one to pass up an extra buck or two my way."

"Jack."

"And I think it's awesome that you're allowing me to field my own team. Touched, really. But, we all know that Cage is my right-hand. That doesn't change. And I wouldn't mind getting one of those corner offices. Large bay windows preferred."

" _Jack_."

"As for the kid, well, he can go back to making cars run. I'll throw a few pennies his way, just enough to land him a nice Hawaiian vacation or something. That'll be AFTER I void the Mindbreak, of course. Win-win."

"JACK."

"What?" Jack said, draining the last of his beverage down with a sharp grimace. The stern woman shook her head minutely from side-to-side. "It's about Angus MacGyver's Mindbreak. Specifically, _your_ Mindbreak."

"Right, and in a day or two when he's up to the task, I'll un-Mindbreak him. It'll take all of two seconds then he can go on his merry way. Like I said. Win-win." He offered her the nearly empty cup in his hands. "Coffee?" Matty shot him a dour glare.

"While you and MacGyver were out cold, we took the liberty of running a few brain scans. The results were worse than we expected." A pause, then: "Consider it a permanent Mindbreak." The operative stared at her in confusion.

"Wait, what do you mean, permanent? As in, I have to be Mac's Mindbreaker full time? For the rest of my life?" Jack shook his head vehemently. "No. We void the Mindbreaker or find someone else to Mindbreak him."

"Let me spell it out for you, Jack. If you void this Mindbreak, MacGyver dies. If we try to Mindbreak him a _third_ time, he dies. I don't see any other options here." At this Jack slammed a fist on the table.

"Dammit, Matty! You swore to me that I wouldn't have to Mindbreak after Cairo! I'm not willing to go through that again!" He absentmindedly rubbed his chest in the place where the homemade bomb had been strapped. Matty's demeanor softened, but Jack didn't seem to notice and merely avoided her gaze. "And besides, I'm not a licensed Mindbreaker anymore."

"You are now." Matty placed a new ID card on the table. "I called in a few favors. Your record's clean. According to the government, two days ago you and Angus MacGyver finished the three week course for Mindbreak Methodology Certification and the Mindbreak was performed in the presence of a licensed official. Now it's up to you, as MacGyver's Mindbreaker, to stabilize the damage Nikki inflicted. And to do that, you'll need to strengthen your mental bond." Jack was silent for a moment. He picked up the ID card and ran a thumb over the glossy finish.

"But Matty…If I do this, open myself up to the kid…He'll eventually find out about Phoenix. What we do. A Mindbreak is personal. I won't be able to keep much hidden."

"Which is why I've made changes to your team dynamic," she explained and tapped on the manila folder. "Read the file and then, for pity's sake, pay MacGyver a visit. We have a lot of ground to cover. And one last thing: you should probably apologize to Cage about her shoes." Matty left the table, leaving Jack to explore the folder's contents. He scanned he first page and nearly jumped from his seat.

"ANGUS IS GONNA BE MY NEW PARTNER? BUT THAT'S CAGE'S JOB! MATTY, GET BACK HERE! MATTY!"


	8. Chapter 8

Mac found himself back in the warehouse after hours pouring over Mindbreaking texts with Bozer. Puddles dotted the smooth concrete floor, trapping the occasional paper in their watery embrace. Overhead lights flickered as the aged wiring fought to sustain power. Handsome floor-to-ceiling windows, mostly still intact, presented a beautiful midday view of the Colorado mountains he'd adored as a child.

Mac's growing headaches had finally escalated into bodily tremors and he recalled trying to hide his shaking hands from Bozer. He had no memory of falling asleep, however…and reluctantly concluded that he must be trapped somewhere in his fractured mind. He'd studied Mindbreaking at MIT, but the courses were introductory at best, and focused more on the history and development of Mindbreaker law and implementation than the actual Mindbreaker-Mindbreakee relationship.

He knew that both parties entered a legal pact after certification and had to cross miles of red tape before the Mindbreak was even sanctified. Many approved Mindbreaks were between family members and loved ones. Mac remembered one such incident in the paper about a Mindbreaker who'd Mindbreaked his spouse after she'd been diagnosed with Huntington's so that he could personally vouch for her on any medical decisions when she could no longer do so herself. Mindbreaks were planned events, notarized in the public eye. Not forced upon someone then voided minutes after.

He started to walk the length of the dilapidated building when he felt a violent tremor reverberate from the floor toward the roof of the structure, causing all manner of cabinets and tools to shake in its path. Mac clutched onto a large desk for support and watched with a mixture of trepidation and helplessness as a few standing filing cabinets collapsed from the tremor's intensity. His own hands seemed to mirror the chaos around him, forcing Mac to lose his grip and fall to the buckling floor. He curled in on himself, hands all but useless, until the trembling subsided and the warehouse returned to normal. Mac rose to his knees and cast a wary look at his surroundings. Well. Maybe this place wasn't quite through with its nightmarish qualities after all.

A loud knocking on the front door caused Mac to jump in alarm. He scrambled to his feet just as a booming voice rang from the entrance. "Hey, buddy. Looks like you're home. Mind if I come in?"

Mac stared incoherently at the door, which was cracked slightly ajar. He'd already been bombarded with two uninvited guests in his hospital room; he didn't particularly care for a third encounter. Mac all-out sprinted across the expansive space until he slammed his entire body weight against the entrance. He heard a grunt of pain from the other side and felt the metal give a little but not quite close.

"What the hell, man?!" a deep voice screeched as Mac plowed into the surface again.

"Stay away from me!" Mac bellowed. He kept pressing his advantage.

"I'm trying to help you. Let me in!"

Mac lost his purchase and the door slid open another few inches. He grit his teeth and tried to remain steadfast, but the man on the other side clearly had the upper hand.

"Dude, I can't do much for you outside!"

"There's—" Mac grunted as his strength waned "—plenty for you to do outside. Why don't you climb one of those mountains?"

The baritone voice sounded genuinely shocked. "Mountains? Just what kind of signature do you have going on here, anyways?" Mac hesitated at the unfamiliar term and felt a hard shove as the stranger succeeded in their reverse tug-of-war and made his way across the threshold. Mac studied the man just as surely as the other surveyed the warehouse. His unwelcome visitor stood about a head taller than him with military cropped hair and day-old stubble lining his face. After taking his fill of the place, the man set down a worn toolbox and a fire poker and gave Mac a proper once-over.

"This place is looking mighty better, thanks to yours truly."

"Wait—I'm sorry, what?"

"You'd better be grateful, too. I had to practically complete my own Ice Bucket Challenge to rescue all your filing cabinets. You seriously need to throw some of that stuff out. I mean, do you REALLY need to know the capitals of all fifty states?"

Mac crossed his arms. "Look, whoever you are, whatever you want, you're not welcome here so you can just—" Another tremor wracked the building, this one stronger than the last. Mac lost his balance and fell backwards, slamming into a fallen filing cabinet. Jack was able to stay upright—just barely—and shielded his head as if expecting something to fall from above.

"Angus, what is all this?!"

He couldn't reply. Like last time, the tremors seemed to leach into his body. He tensed as he was seized with minor shakes, the worst focused once again around his hands.

 _"Mac!"_

One of the windows closest to the door suddenly burst as the quake continued its tirade. Pieces of glass skittered across the concrete floor. More cabinets were sent crashing as Jack looked on, crestfallen.

"Hey! I spent a long time straightening up those good-for-nothing pieces of—" The floor gave one final, shuddering lurch before the tremors lessened and eventually stopped. It took slightly longer for the shaking in Mac's hands to subside.

Jack lowered his arm and stepped gingerly around the broken glass. He whistled softly, taking in the destruction that surrounded them. "Jeezus, kid. I'm pretty sure I overestimated the toolbox." The lack of response prompted him to turn his attention to the blonde. "Hey, you okay?"

Mac struggled to get to his feet, using the cabinet behind him for leverage, but his weakened hands refused to cooperate. Gravity – or what passed as gravity in this dreamscape – assisted in pulling him back down to the hard floor, which was now pockmarked with superficial grooves. His tall companion moved to help, but Mac motioned him to stop.

"Ugh, don't bother. That's twice now that those quakes have knocked me off balance. Seems fitting I should just stay on the floor."

Jack studied him harder, his forehead creased in worry. "Wait, this has happened before?"

"Well, yeah, there was one right before you showed up, but it was shorter. This one was definitely worse."

Jack frowned and turned away. He swept another cursory glance around the warehouse's interior.

"The Mindbreak is solid, though. The bond is strong. You should be healing, but your signature won't allow it." Mac shifted uncomfortably against his filing cabinet back-rest. The handle of one of the drawers dug almost painfully into his spine.

"Signature?"

Jack continued to speak as if he hadn't heard Mac. "It's like your signature's still fighting Nikki. But she's not even here!"

Mac's breath hitched at the mention of her name. His heartbeat increased to the point where he thought it would pound out of his chest.

"Nikki?" he repeated weakly. His fingers trembled slightly in response.

Jack rubbed a hand across his face, his expression clouded. "The ice is gone. She voided her Mindbreak and I cleaned up the mess. Which means…" his eyes flickered to Mac in realization. The blonde stared back blankly.

"What? What'd I do?"

"You're protecting yourself from me."

"Uh, I don't even _know_ you."

Jack rolled his eyes. "C'mon, it's me! Remember? I saved you from death by filing cabinet and helped heat this place up to perfect spring day standards. You're welcome, by the way." Mac stiffened as the words hit home.

"You Mindbreaked me."

"I figured that one was kinda obvious," Jack said with a smirk that seemed forced. Mac watched him rub his chest as if in pain before dropping his hand back to his side. "What, no comeback? Man, this partnership is gonna be tougher than I thought."

"End the Mindbreak." Mac took a step back from the stocky agent, widening the distance between them. "I've already had one Mindbreaker order me around against my will. I won't be used like that again."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! I'm not the bad guy here! Besides, even if I _could_ boss you around, which I _can't_ , I would never do that! And I can't exactly void the Mindbreak or else you kinda die."

"WHAT?"

"I'm, like, the only reason you're still alive. Something to do with brainwaves. It's pretty technical, quantum physics type of stuff. Over my head."

" _WHAT?_ "

"And if we try to Mindbreak you a third time you'll either die or go insane…but probably just die."

" _WHAT_?!"

"Yyyyeeaahhhh, we really need to get you up to speed, buddy. Why don't you follow me out of your signature and check out mine? It's way better than this creepy place." Mac stood his ground and declined the outstretched hand. He'd been Mindbroken—again—without his consent. Forced into partnership with a stranger. The thought made him feel violated.

"So, this is my signature?" Mac asked mechanically. It sounded like a dumb question, even to his own ears, but his Mindbreaker nodded with another one of his smirks.

"Hell yeah it is. Everyone has one, but, unless you've been Mindbroken, you don't really know what it looks like. So…surprise, I guess!"

Mac raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "If I was truly gonna mind-build some special, secret place just for me, why create this?" He swung his arm in a wide arc for emphasis.

Jack shrugged. "I dunno, man. You made this place."

"Why, though?"

Jack let out a long sigh.

"You see that door?" Jack pointed to the heavy steel door that marked the warehouse's entrance. "That's my entrypoint. If you walk through that door, you'll cross over into my signature – which, by the way, is a helluva lot cooler than the Office Max getup you've got going on here."

"Why?" Mac repeated, his voice dipping into anger.

"Why what? I am NOT repeating everything over again—"

"No, I mean, why would my signature be a dingy warehouse?"

Jack sighed and kicked a broken fragment of glass against the wall.

"I can't tell you that. The central environment is usually somewhere or something of great personal importance. Did you ever work in a warehouse? Or play in an abandoned one as a kid? It's gotta mean something to you."

"No," Mac said softly, a small spark of terror igniting within his chest. This warehouse was unfamiliar to him. Like it wasn't his at all. "I-I mean there are pieces that make sense, like the mountains, but…" His mouth went dry in panic and he searched Jack's face for a plausible answer. "This warehouse means nothing to me. I've never seen it before."

"No, that's not possible." Jack set his jaw stubbornly, but a hint of doubt crossed his face.

"It's true."

Jack paced idly, lost in thought. "The bond leads here. This is definitely your signature. You recognize the mountains. The nerdy filing cabinets are definitely yours—"

"Hey!" Mac interjected indignantly.

"—but now that you mention it…" Jack's eyes narrowed as he neared the warehouse door. He knocked on the steel experimentally and inspected the siding to the left of the doorframe. Without warning, he dropped to the floor and placed his face against the smooth concrete, careful to avoid the debris. His eyes remained fixed down the length of the long hallway. Jack hoisted himself up after a few minutes and brushed dust from his pants.

"The door was replaced at one point – quite poorly, I might add – which is why it's not flush with the floor. The concrete's not level at all; this is why the siding's all janky and not sitting straight."

"Thanks for the update, Property Brother."

Jack didn't take the bait. He looked at Mac somberly, a small amount of pity lacing his words.

"This warehouse is foreign to you; even if it wasn't, you strike me as a perfectionist. Your mind would've cleaned up these inconsistencies because you probably can't stand anything being out of place. Which means I was wrong. Your mind's not fighting me. It _is_ still fighting Nikki."

Mac's head hurt as he tried and failed to follow Jack's line of thinking.

"It's what now?"

"You're mind's already added its own touches, sure, and it will probably continue to do so, but...yeah! She thought she was SO clever…Ha! Mac, we're gonna get her!" Mac frowned at the unexpected outburst, his own emotions hovering somewhere between anger and denial.

"Uh, Jack? Now would be a great time to fill me in."

"Don't you get it?" Jack said, striding over to the blonde and throwing an arm around his shoulder. He waved his free hand to indicate the dilapidated interior, not unlike Mufasa showing off his kingdom to a naïve Simba. "This warehouse doesn't belong to you. It's Nikki's!"

"Huh?"

"She forced you into a powerful Mindbreak. She overtook your entire mind with ease. Like, she didn't even HAVE to try—"

"Gee, thanks—"

"—but in doing so, she pulled you into her mind, which—I'm ninety percent certain of this—caused your signature to merge with hers. Even after she voided the Mindbreak, your mind still kept a part of her around. This warehouse means something, alright. It's important to Nikki, and we're gonna find out why."


	9. Chapter 9

Jack had wanted to start mucking around Mac's signature straight away after his newfound discovery, but regulation-adhering bureaucrats above even Matty Webber demanded the partners complete Mindbreaker safety courses before proceeding any further. Hours later the duo found themselves confined in a small conference room while a dusty VHS tape attempted to educate them about the Buddy system. The static-laced introductory video was already proving more difficult to stomach than the tedious Mindbreaking 101 textbook Mac had been forced to study with Bozer.

"Awww, c'mon, Matty. This is stupid." Jack groused, reaching for the remote and pausing the narrator mid-sentence. "Can't we just skip this nonsense? He looks like he walked off the set of Mary Poppins then took a left turn into Downtown Abbey."

"This training is mandatory," Matty replied sharply, "so grow up, Jack. The sooner you and blondie complete these Mindbreaker Buddy courses, the sooner we can locate and apprehend Nikki Carpenter."

"Seriously, Matty? You think this video is relevant?" Jack pushed the play button before his superior could respond and was rewarded with the narrator's cheeky grin as he leaned against a garden trellis archway. The video skipped slightly then reset itself, causing the not-so-captive audience to miss the first few seconds of the pre-recorded speech. '—and most importantly, protect your wife's focal point. As a Mindbreakee she'll appreciate the safety afforded from a strong, manly Mindbreaker and will provide all the comforts of a loving home—' the operative stopped the video again, not bothering to hide his distaste. He cocked an eyebrow at Matty, who at least had the grace to look slightly offended.

"Okay, fine. So the video's a little dated. But the principles remain the same."

Mac blanched. "Dated? It's stereotyping the entire Mindbreaker system!"

The Director of Operations huffed impatiently and rolled her eyes. "Cool it, blondie. Jack forced you into a Mindbreak, not a marriage. Watch the damn video and take what you can from it. Got it?" The two men mumbled affirmatives as Matty spun on her heel and exited the room. The distinct click of the lock suggested they'd be unable to leave until they finished the cringe-worthy presentation.

Mac rubbed his temples, stalling the inevitable for a few additional seconds before he sighed. "Alright, let's just get this over with."

"Fine by me," his crew-cut comrade concurred and started the video again. Jazzy upbeat tunes followed the narrator as he swept a gorgeous woman in his arms and twirled her amidst a fake field of flowers. 'A Mindbreaker should always be cognizant of his surroundings. As the protector, it's his duty to keep his wife healthy and out of harm's way. This applies not only to the outside environment, but the focal point as well. The focal point serves as the bond's tangible link between both minds—' a cheesy graph attempting to display this very concept briefly replaced the smiling couple '—and should never be tampered with or severed. Closing off the focal point causes damage to both parties. So let's leave the marital spats…on your doormats!' Choppy canned laughter dotted the audio as the tape skipped again.

Jack yawned. "Remind me to burn this tape after this is all over," he grumbled. "Relevant. What a bunch of hogwash."

'While the Mindbreaker's signature tends to act as the communal space for both parties – akin to the living room of a home – the wife's signature should be treated much more delicately. The Mindbreakee's personal space should be quiet and conducive to her sensitive nature. Since she lacks the ability to shield herself from the dangers of the world, she must do what she can to support and cherish her loving spouse—'

Mac stood so abruptly his chair toppled backwards on the floor. Jack, who had been lulled into a stupor, jumped in shock at the loud noise. He looked up in time to see Mac storming toward the locked door.

"Hey, buddy, what are you doing?"

"Leaving," came the curt reply.

Jack opted to stop the tape and turn off the antiquated VCR. He bounded beside the mechanic who was studying the electronic wall panel near the door with a focused intensity.

"I'm getting out of here," Mac continued coldly. He refused to make eye contact with the other operative.

Jack crossed his arms. "Uh huh. And by 'here' you mean…?"

"This room. This place. You. Phoenix." His voice wavered with an unexpected surge of anger. He motioned as if to reach into his pocket, then hesitated. "My pocketknife. Great, they still have my pocketknife."

"They?" Jack asked, but Mac ignored him. He shouldered past the Mindbreaker and sifted through the office supplies stacked neatly on a nearby conference table. He spotted a modest collection of paper clips and picked up one of the bent pieces of metal. "Okay, hoss, what are you planning to do with that?"

"You want the long version or the short version?" Mac asked. He straightened the paperclip then approached the panel. Jack gave an amused laugh.

"Any version as long as I know how you plan to prison break us outta here with a staple knock-off."

"Long version it is, then. I hope you brushed up on your electromagnetic theory."

"Hold on, _what_?"

" _Kidding_ ," Mac said. He pried his new tool behind the panel. "I just want to get a better look at what I'm dealing with." Jack paced the room until he couldn't take it anymore and craned his neck over Mac's shoulder, wincing at the defaced company property.

"Just so you know, that's coming out of your paycheck, not mine." After a few more twists of the paperclip, the mechanic popped off the panel cover and assessed the mess of wires concealed beneath. Mac set to work immediately, leaving Jack feeling out-of-place and non-contributory. He hadn't expected to ever Mindbreak again after Cairo…as if anyone would ever want to be saddled with him.

But he _had_ daydreamed about the kind of person he'd share that bond with, if it did eventually happen. And a geeky, fresh-faced grease monkey somehow didn't quite live up to his Angelina Jolie expectation. An awkward silence settled between them and Jack almost wished that he'd kept that puke-worthy Buddy safety video playing in the background. "Well, a little commentary would be nice," Jack prompted as Mac sat back on his heels, calculating.

"It would be easier if I knew the code, but I'll figure it out."

"OR – crazy idea – we could finish the video and good ol' Matty can LET us out. That'll probably be a lot faster than this jailbreaking gig you've got going on—"

"No."

"It's a pride thing, I get it. Fine, next time we'll find a video where I'm the damsel and you're the handsome able-bodied man or husband or whatever—"

"Enough!" Mac's frustration fizzled through their mental bond and bled into Jack's signature. The searing anger was so intense it left scorch marks on the grass around the gate. "That's not it. Just let me think, Jack!"

Jack's easy-going attitude snapped. "Then what is it? I know you've been through a lot lately, but I can't exactly read your mind!"

Mac slammed his palm against the wall's smooth surface. "Yes, you can. You can do anything you want. And I'm powerless to stop it, aren't I?"

His companion frowned. "What?" He stepped forward cautiously, his heart skipping a beat when he saw the blonde's body pitch forward. "Mac?" Jack grabbed his Buddy's shoulder, relieved when he confirmed he was simply unconscious. "Dammit, Mac," he spat and quickly jumped into his own signature, stepping around the blackened ground as he threw open the gate. This time he entered Mac's mind without resistance.

He found the blonde sifting through one of the filing cabinets closest to the entryway. Mac was pulling out wads of files and throwing them unceremoniously to the floor. He stiffened at Jack's approach but didn't turn around.

"You already have access to my mind, so I thought I'd make things easier," Mac growled. "Everyone at Phoenix already seems to know all the details of my professional life. Why not fill in the blanks? Here's information on my high school bullies, my lab partners at MIT, how much of a burden I felt to my grandfather after he agreed to raise me—"

Jack raised his hands in an attempt to ward off the undeserving tirade. "WHOA there! I don't want – or particularly need – to know any of that! I'm your equal, remember? Door mats and all that jazz? Did you learn nothing from the video?"

Mac's shoulders slumped a bit, almost guiltily. "I'm proving a point."

"Yeah, well, you can prove a point without collapsing on me like that! You have to be smart about it, kid. Every time we jump into our signatures, we lose consciousness, so you can't just do it wherever you want. Go find a couch, a chair, a throw rug, _whatever_ , and get yourself someplace safe first." Mac started rummaging through the cabinet, but with much less gusto. Jack attempted to reach him again. "Talk to me, Mac. What's really bothering you?"

"It's…well, it's—" The floor vibrated suddenly, the crash of multiple cabinets interrupting Mac's almost-confession. Fresh cracks appeared in the concrete flooring as the shaking worsened. Jack, remembering the blown out glass from the previous exploding window, dropped to his knees and lowered his head, covering the back of his neck with interlocking fingers. Mac wasn't so lucky. The semi-open filing cabinet drawer slid out to its full length, catching the blonde in the cheek. Mac stumbled back in pain and hit the floor as a secondary tremor wracked the earth. The two men waited out the aftershocks while the building groaned and shook around them.

Mac felt something warm pooling on his skin once the quakes subsided. He groaned and reached a still shaking hand up to his face to gauge the damage. He couldn't really assess anything except that his hand came back wet. And red.

"Mac! You alright?" The Mindbreaker had already regained his footing and seemed hesitant to approach the mechanic.

"Yeah, I'm…well, I don't know. You were right. My filing cabinets are stupid."

"Huh?" Jack asked. Understanding colored his features as he caught sight of the blood. "Geez, Mac. What's with you, some death-by-filing-cabinet fetish?"

"Very funny. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to lay here until my headache goes away and then—hey!" He grunted in protest as Jack hoisted him to his feet and kept a steady hand on his shoulder to prevent him from falling. Mac felt himself being forcefully ushered to the doorway. He instinctively backpedaled against the movement, but the slick floor prevented him from gaining any significant traction. Jack soldiered on, waving away Mac's objections.

"I'm hauling your accident-prone ass to my signature. I don't have much in the way of medical supplies, but the house has some band aids. And since I doubt Nikki's Warehouse of Horrors has anything better, I don't want to hear any complaining. Clear?"

"I can take care of myse—"

"Atta boy, Angus," Jack grinned and shoved Mac across the threshold.

A fiery sunset greeted Mac as he stumbled past the rusted gate. The captivating – and unexpected – sight caused him to stop and admire the picturesque scene before him. Jack's signature, with its ramshackle barn and cozy farmhouse, seemed like a resort compared to his own crumbling mess. Peacefulness seeped into his core as strong as the first chill of Nikki's ice.

Jack noticed his wide-eyed stare and grinned. "Don't get too attached," he chided, guiding Mac to a firepit the mechanic had initially overlooked in his stunned state. "I own the rights to this here signature. We can't have you copying me after we get rid of Nikki's warehouse."

Mac paused. "Wait. You think there's a way to destroy the warehouse?"

"I know there is, kid. First we gotta try to work with it and see if it holds any clues about Nikki," he added hastily, "but then we'll rid your signature of Nikki for good. You can build something better. Preferably without the filing cabinets." Jack instructed Mac to avoid the Coleman oversized quad chair—"It's mine"—so the blonde contented himself with the only other available seat, a frayed lawn chair that listed to one side on the uneven ground. "And for pete's sake, stay still before you hurt yourself again," his comrade cautioned. "I'll be right back with some supplies."

Mac tentatively ran his fingers across his cheek. Blood dripped sluggishly from a shallow laceration, coating the pads of his fingertips. He dropped his hand and grudgingly decided to wait, although he was itching to see more of the country homestead. A small but steady fire crackled under his gaze, garnering his attention. The flames licked and danced among the logs but didn't seem to scorch them; in fact, Jack didn't even have a stocked log pile despite being partially surrounded by a sizeable forest. The other half of the property included an enormous pasture with fencing and a gate.

A portable radio propped next to Jack's chair produced a steady cadence of music that conflicted with the chirping of excited hens as the Mindbreaker stopped momentarily by their coop. He greeted them by name and made his way to the house, the worn shutter door creaking loudly as he opened it and stepped inside.

Mac tried to make himself comfortable while he contemplated his situation. Not only was he trapped in an eternal Mindbreak, but he'd simultaneously been coerced into joining a secret organization that officially didn't exist. He closed his eyes and leaned against the chair's ragged plastic exterior. He hadn't meant to snap at Jack, but recent events had literally torn his world apart. Sure, he'd assumed that this business with Nikki would take weeks – months even – and had been willing to make compromises in the interest of national security. But he hadn't been prepared to sacrifice his future as well.

The ambient sounds of the farm calmed even these warring thoughts to some degree, and despite his better judgment, he found himself relaxing even more in Jack's comforting signature. All he wanted to do was sit here in this hard, rickety chair and forget about the past few days. He wanted things to go back to the way they used to be. The way they ought to be.

"Aaaaannnnggguuussss. Wakey-wakey." Mac flinched at the sudden noise, nearly falling off-balance as his chair wobbled precariously. His partner laughed heartily at his expense. "You know, I thought about sneaking up on you, but that would've been too cruel. Fair warning for next time, though." He grinned and tossed a compact medical kit over the fire. Mac caught the item with ease and rifled through the kit's contents as Jack sunk gratefully into his grand camping chair. "Ahhhh, this is the life, isn't it? Under the stars with some good ol' easy listening. The only thing that would make this even better would be a huge flat screen featuring my man Bruce Willis—"

"Jack, the only things in this box are some sterile saline wipes, a disposable bag and a box of ninja band aids."

"Way to ruin the mood, Angus." Jack bantered.

"Sorry, man, I didn't mean—" The Mindbreaker waved off the apology and settled more comfortably in his Coleman, which had the luxury of being seated on a perfectly level stretch of soft grass. "It's all gramps had at the farm. So, naturally, I couldn't think of anything better when I made this place."

Mac tore open one of the small packets and released a square wipey. He tentatively scrubbed at the dried blood that had tracked down his neck. "When did you make your signature? You mentioned before that no one would know what their signature looked like until they'd been Mindbroken."

Jack cocked his head in thought. "I guess I was around seven when I created my signature. That's when I started getting all my Mindbreaker mojo."

"SEVEN?" Mac shot him a disbelieving stare. He'd never heard of a Mindbreaker possessing skills so young. Jack, however, rolled off the semi-compliment with a shrug.

"Growing up, my dad would take me to my grandpa's farm on the weekends and it just seemed like the coolest, most magical place as a kid. So, naturally, I wanted to spend all my time at my grandpa's place. Pair that with Mindbreaker powers and—BOOM—you get a signature that resembles how my seven-year-old self viewed the world. It's why the sunset is so crazy. Everything's a lot bigger and brighter when you're a kid."

"You never wanted to change it afterwards?" Mac asked. He shifted in his chair to try to get better purchase on the uneven ground. Jack's face dropped a little.

"There were times I wanted to change it, sure. Like after pops died. But once a Mindbreaker chooses their signature it tends to stick."

"Stick?" Mac tossed the soiled wipey into the disposable bag and retrieved a fresh one.

"Yep. Mindbreakers only really get one shot at deciding what their signatures look like. If you think about it, it kinda makes sense. A Mindbreaker's signature lays the groundwork for the bond and focal point, so it can't be changing all the time. Gotta make it stick." Jack prodded the logs with the fire poker at his feet, an unnecessary task seeing as the fire always maintained its steady blaze. "That's where you Mindbreakees have the advantage."

"Advantage? I thought I was supposed to be locked away in a virtual kitchen slaving over pies," Mac said. He couldn't help the slight bite that came with the words. What advantage could a Mindbreakee have over his master?

"I'm surprised a baby Einstein like you hasn't figured that out yet. Think about it, Mac. Mindbreakees can change their signatures whenever they want. Obviously, any changes have to be attached to a memory or something from your life, but it's definitely possible." He gave the logs another prod. "You're the exception."

"Because of the warehouse."

"Bingo. Can't exactly change something that's not really you." Jack rubbed his eyes with a groan. "Ughhhh. All this Mindbreaking rulebook lingo is giving me a headache. This is level 301 kinda stuff and a lot of the technical parts go way over my head. Look, the video probably does a much better job—"

Mac hurried to reply, nearly dropping the supplies he'd gathered in his lap. "And suffer through more of that canned laughter? No thanks. You're doing fine, Jack," he assured him. "So, any future requests for my signature? I feel like I owe you one, seeing as you did do the whole save-the-damsel-in-distress thing." He finished mopping up the coppery blood trail and prepared to cover his still-weeping wound with a childish ninja band aid. Jack gave a hearty laugh.

"Now you're talking! Maybe some buffalo wings and _beer_. Oh hallelujah, beer!"

"Jack, I don't drink. I can't exactly add beer to the list if I don't have any sort of attachment to it."

"WHAT?! You don't like beer? How can you call yourself an American?"

"It's just a personal choice, that's all. It's the same with guns. I don't use them, either."

"What's wrong with guns?"

"Uh, what's _not_ wrong with guns?"

 _"WHAT?!"_

Mac shrugged. "What's the big deal?"

"The big deal?" Jack echoed, his eyes wide with shock. "The big deal is that you've been assigned as my new, shiny, minty-fresh super secret agent partner and now you tell me you're refusing to use a very effective weapon against some very bad people."

"I try to avoid violence, Jack. And besides, I'm not completely unarmed. I have my brain."

Jack scowled and leaned forward earnestly, elbows resting on his knees. "A brain that is still trying desperately to fight off the effects of Nikki armageddon! How could you possibly protect me in the field if things go south?"

Now it was Mac's turn to wink. "I thought the 'strong, manly Mindbreaker' was supposed to be the one protecting the Mindbreakee—"

"Hilarious, Mac." Jack grumbled, exasperated.

"But in all seriousness, Jack," the blonde continued, "if you were in trouble, I'd think of a plan to save you. A non-violent, everybody-lives-nobody-dies kind of plan."

The operative's dubious expression deepened. "And what kind of plan would that be?"

"Well, I don't know. It would just depend on the situation."

"Okaaaaayyyyy…say I'm trapped in a high-rise skyscraper with a band of German terrorists hot on my heels. What would you do?"

Mac threw his head back and laughed. "Are we talking about real life right now or the plot of Die Hard?"

"Hey, the plot of Die Hard could become real life at any time, Mac! Especially in our line of work! Riddle me this: how would you get past thirteen heavily armed hostiles without shooting a single bullet?"

The young mechanic pondered quietly, suddenly getting quite into the proposed circumstance. He waited so long to answer that Jack was tempted to switch topics before Mac repeated, "It depends on the situation."

"I just told you the situation! Dammit, Mac, if you're not gonna take this seriously, then just forget it—"

"I _am_ being serious. Are you the only one or are we both inside the building? Are we together or have we been separated? Have either of us been detected by Hans and his friends yet? Have the terrorists cut power to the building? Have we gained access to multiple floors and rooms? What objects are at our disposal? If I'm going to improvise, I need to know what we can work with and how to obtain it if it's not readily accessible—"

"You proved your point, Mac," Jack groused, but there was genuine awe and a hint of respect in his voice. Mac smiled to himself and neatly packed up the medical kit, snapping the lid resolutely in place. His joy was short-lived, however, as darker thoughts crept to the forefront of his mind.

"One more question. How is it possible I can become injured in my own signature?"

Jack removed his jacket and extended his right forearm by way of explanation. A thin, ragged scar ran from the top of his wrist almost to the crease of his elbow. "When I was ten, I decided to expand the chicken coop. Gramps had done as much to his coop in the real world, so of course I wanted mine to look the exact same. My barn was already stocked with gramp's extra building materials, so I went straight to work. Long story short, I fell backwards over one of my hens and ended up cutting this arm on a sharp piece of chicken wire. My injury did end up healing on its own, but it bothered me for a good while every time I visited my signature. Not to mention I ran a genuine fever for a couple days." He coughed, suddenly self-conscious. "And that's probably more than you even wanted to know. Bottom line is yes, Mindbreakers and Mindbreakees alike can become hurt and even die from injuries they get in their signatures. Although the death part only ever comes into play if the focal point becomes blocked off. Just remember, kid, leave your marital spats…" The brunette waited obnoxiously as he silently prodded his partner to finish the video's jingle. Mac rolled his eyes.

"…on your doormats."

"Atta boy, Angus!"

"Shut up, Jack."

"I'll shut up once you promise me you won't try to leave."

Mac racked his brain and realized Jack was referring to his actions after he'd stormed away from the admittedly deprecating video. "Oh. Right." His face heated in embarrassment and shame. "Sorry," he apologized again. "I promise I won't make another escape attempt. Not that I can't do it – pretty sure I _could_ , given the proper time and resources –"

"I get it, you don't have to brag—"

"—but from now on I'll do my part to make this Mindbreak work. Deal?"

Jack nodded. "Same goes for me, brother." He paused, then dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Now, about Matty's orders to watch that video…?"

"I take it back," Mac countered, "how about you give me permission to try to escape one last time? All I need is ten minutes and I'll have us out of that conference room."

"Make it five and I'll buy you a cappucinno at the café."

"Throw in a chocolate chip cookie and I'll do it in three."

"I believe this is the start of a beautiful friendship," his partner said as they prepared to leave the sunset signature behind and jump into their new reality.


	10. Chapter 10

Jack sat in the sand, the gentle ebb and flow of the ocean drenching his feet as it crested against the shore. He attempted to skip a chipped seashell over the water while his thoughts strayed to the Mindbreaker mess he found himself in.

He'd never really given Mindbreaking a second thought until after he met Diane and opened his heart to a twelve-year-old Riley. He'd made damn sure to protect the two most precious women in his life by kicking Elwood's abusive ass six ways to Sunday and embracing the fatherly role he never knew he needed. In that brief period of time, he'd truly settled into parenthood and lived the suburban dream; he'd happily pretended to work as a blue collar bathroom tile salesman and had actually considered buying one of those mom vans in order to chaperone Riley and her teammates to weekend soccer games.

But there was a reason why his confidential Mindbreaker records had "DELTA" written across the top in obnoxious red print. His latent Mindbreaking skills were easily five times that of other Mindbreakers, classifying him as a borderline terrorist threat in the eyes of the government. On one occasion, his Delta status leaked to the wrong kind of people and he found himself on a hitlist worth hundreds of thousands of Mexican pesos. That singular incident had prompted him to skip town, revive his old Duke Jacoby alias and personally validate that his highly classified status stayed good and buried. Unfortunately, the ordeal took six months longer than expected and by that time he'd missed his chance to reclaim Diane and Riley's trust. Fast forward sixteen years and here he was, reunited with that once twelve-year-old girl who'd traded her soccer skills for an impressive cyber hacking repertoire and coated her already salty personality with an additional serving of sass.

Not even a year ago, Phoenix requested her assistance with a covert op and, thanks to her stellar performance, offered her conditional recruitment upon completion. This meant Jack finally had to fess up to what he actually did for a living…and why bathroom tile conferences usually didn't last two weeks straight. He grinned at the memory. Despite his camaraderie with Cage, he shared a special, protective bond with Riley, and if his past follies had taught him anything, it was not to keep secrets from his family.

Riley knew everything. His fake identity, the horrors of Cairo, his rank as Delta and all the boring fluff in-between. So it was no surprise when she took a seat next to him in the sand and also stretched her bare feet toward the lapping waves. Of course, the device in her hands didn't go unnoticed by Jack.

"Couldn't just leave work at home, could you, kid?" He playfully gave her a nudge while her hands glossed over the keys of her laptop. Riley brushed him away with a roll of her eyes.

"Some of us can't exactly take days off when we feel like it, Jack."

"Hey, now! Might I remind you that Matty herself gave Bozer, Mac and I some much needed R&R. And it's only for today, so I'm simply enjoying my break to the absolute fullest."

She tried and failed to hold back a laugh. "I see. So what amazingly fun things has the great Jack Dalton done so far?"

"I happened to see a shoe sale this morning and figured I'd pick Cage up a pair. And _then_ , after wasting half my life waiting in line, I decided to hit the beach and make sandcastles for five hours."

"You bought Cage shoes?" She smirked at his discomfort.

It was true that there were no secrets between them…unless it came to Jack's top five embarrassing moments of all time. And puking his guts out after Mac's Mindbreak was at the top of the list.

"Long story," Jack replied. He tried to catch a glance at the laptop's glare-resistant screen over her shoulder. "So, what kind of cyber takedown are you doing today? Rewriting codes? Corrupting firewalls? Decrypting malware?"

"None of that made any sense," Riley said. She offered him a warm smile anyway for his gallant attempt. "Actually, I'm doing research. Your research."

"Research about what? I'm a licensed Mindbreaker again. Even Matty can't force me to retake those stupid exams—" Jack paused as Riley tilted her laptop screen for a better view.

"But—wait a sec! That's the warehouse!" The image of it was crude and only showed one small section, but Jack could recognize that piece of crap anywhere. Nikki's warehouse!

"Not so fast, Jack. It's just a model," the computer tech clarified. She looped a stray piece of dark hair behind her ear. "I've only got about ten percent of it mapped out so far. The rest is still a work in progress. Mac's been helping me with it all morning while you've been buying shoes or whatever."

"They were sixty percent off slip ons, if you'd like to know!" Jack grumbled. He felt a little guilty now that he knew Mac had holed himself up in Nikki's former ice fortress but he shrugged it off. They were supposed to be on a mandatory twenty-four hour staycation. He'd already had a rocking awesome afternoon making sandcastles of epic proportions and he wasn't about to regret his time well spent. The laptop made a small pinging noise and Riley's brow furrowed in concentration.

"Another picture. Must be from Mac."

Picture?

Sure enough, the attachment showed a sketch of another portion of the warehouse. Everything was drawn to scale in such minuscule detail it felt like Jack was viewing it in person. The realization hit the operative like one of the ocean's crushing waves.

"Hold on. You're telling me that Mac drew that from memory?"

"Nearly twenty pictures so far," Riley acknowledged. He could tell from her voice that she was impressed. "I created a program to turn his pictures into 3D images so the rest of us can see what you guys see. Pretty cool, huh?"

"You're damn right it's cool!" Jack agreed. The burden of finding Nikki and her spooky-as-hell warehouse lifted a little from his shoulders. With the rest of the team able to view the warehouse and its contents maybe—just maybe—they could actually apprehend Nikki. He peered over Riley's shoulder again with renewed interest.

"Are you guys instant messaging each other? Hey—you sent him a smiley face emoji! You never send me one of those!"

"Maybe because he's actually being useful while you're just sitting out here sulking around."

"I am NOT sulking around!" came the indignant reply. Riley shushed him with a stern look.

"What do you call all this, then?" She gestured at the boulder sized sandcastles behind him, adorned with seashells of various colors.

"I call it a work of art, that's what!"

"Really? A work of art? Like those crocheted hats you kept making after Cairo?"

Jack floundered at that. "I…but, I…that was different!"

"Was it?" Riley questioned, her playful attitude fading as she directed her gaze toward the ocean. "Look, Jack. I get it. Making weird arts and crafts is how you cope. I know you're scared as hell to Mindbreak again, but this would be a perfect opportunity to jump in and give Mac a hand."

Jack flopped backward on the sand, nearly crushing a spiraling torrent that had taken him fifty minutes to build. He stared at the sky with a groan. One of his hands rubbed his torso through the material on his rock band T-shirt.

"I can't stop feeling that bomb, Ri."

"I know, Jack."

They remained in silence for a few minutes. Eventually Jack glanced in Riley's direction, his head still nestled in the sand.

"Is Mac still working on those pictures?"

"Yep."

"Because he should be relaxing. He won't get another day off in a long time, Riley. Probably not for a year or more."

"That's unrealistic."

"This was a direct order from Matty. She said to take the entire day off. Not just a few hours or minutes or seconds here and there. Like, the entire day."

"Heard you the first time, Jack."

"I mean, I'm not one to go against the boss lady. Not I. Not this guy. Not homegrown Texan Jack."

"Good for you."

"You can't convince me to help. Because I won't, you know. I return to active duty tomorrow morning and not a moment sooner."

A minute of typing passed until Jack couldn't stand it anymore.

"Uggghhhhhhh crap. Fine. I'll see if he needs any help. But you owe me a beer for interrupting my beach day." The operative allowed himself to relax amidst the sand and enter the relative comfort of his signature. He tipped a greeting to the lone cowboy hat then trudged through the pasture gate with a yawn.

"Yo. Big Mac. A little birdie told me you've been playing Pictionary all morning."

"Nice to see you too, Jack."

Jack meandered past a row of filing cabinets he'd grown to hate and found Mac digging through one of the steel drawers. He was glad to hear music pulsing through the otherwise depressing space from a recycled Walkman sitting atop a workbench in the corner, even if the music was a weird mix of piano and Asian instrumentals.

"Huh. Never took you for the meditating type. All we need now are a few yoga mats."

The blonde gave a short laugh and continued his search without looking up. "It helps me think."

"Yeah, well it's putting me to sleep."

"House rules. The music stays."

Jack lifted his hands above his head and stretched. "Dddduuuddeee this is so bbboorriinngg." His companion located a fresh notepad and made a few meticulous measurements along the leftmost margin. "Jack, you don't have to stay."

"Nope. It's either hang out in this nerdy signature or go back and have Riley punch my face in. So I'll just chill here for awhile." Mac shrugged.

"Suit yourself. I'll be back in a few minutes after I sketch out some more dimensions with Bozer. Don't mess with my Walkman."

"Didn't even cross my mind," Jack said, holding his hands aloft in mock surrender. Within the blink of an eye, Mac was gone, probably holed up in a Phoenix conference room while he sketched out his newest masterpiece. The thought that Bozer hadn't taken his day off either made Jack cringe. He felt like such a selfish worm for taking advantage of their compulsory break. "Thanks Riley," he scoffed as he kicked a loose rock across the floor.

Jack hadn't been alone in the warehouse since he'd been sludging through water cold enough to burn his skin. He took the opportunity to wander through the warehouse with its shadowy corners and faint smell of damp earth. The space was devoid of any comfort, from its concrete walls to the sagging dips in the concrete. And then there were the filing cabinets—a uniquely Mac touch, but it still lacking anything remotely personal. The operative tore his gaze away from the depressing sight and followed a beam of light trickling in through the sooty windows from above. The mountain range outside…that's right, he'd almost forgotten about it. The sight proved his bookish partner had more to offer his signature than some ridiculous organizational system. He wondered what would've happened if Mac had been Mindbroken the right way. How would his signature have looked then?

He didn't have time to finish that thought. The entire warehouse trembled on its foundation and jagged cracks split around his feet. "Ah, crap! Not again!" Jack hoofed it to the door that led to his pasture. He made it through just as Mac's windows busted and showered him in slivers of glass. The blessed warmth of the farmyard greeted him and he breathed a sigh of relief. The relief, however, was short-lived. Jack realized, for the second time that day, that he'd abandoned Mac in his hour of need; first, by not assisting with the warehouse mapping project (which, in his defense, he didn't even know was ongoing until minutes ago), and just now, with the aftershocks. He rubbed his hands across his face. He really sucked as a Mindbreaker. Hell, he was turning out to be a pretty worthless friend, too.

C'mon! He was a Delta for crying out loud! If he was supposedly so dangerous that his own government had to place him on a leash like some kind of rabid mutt, then he should be able to do something! If only his signature could bear some of the burden…take all the stress off Mac…Jack snapped his fingers. Of course. It was so simple. If he couldn't move Nikki's warehouse into his signature, he could move his signature into the warehouse. Well, technically speaking. The Texan tore through the lawn while the idea took root. Once Mac's signature stabilized, he hauled as many items as he could think of back and forth between the homestead and the warehouse. By the time Mac had recovered enough to return, Jack had taken it upon himself to do some reorganizing of his own.

"Sup, kiddo. Like the new feng shui?" Jack spread his arms wide with pride. Mac dropped a hand from his throbbing forehead.

"Whoa. What the—" He sidestepped something clucking around his feet. "Jack! There are chickens all over the place!" The scruffy man picked up a dark red one by his feet and gave it a small squeeze.

"Ten of 'em total. This one's Darla. She was always my favorite. Weren't you girl?" Darla looked unimpressed. As did Mac.

"Look, I appreciate the thought and all, but it's starting to feel like a petting zoo. I'd rather have a place to think when I come to my signature."

"No one's stopping you, brother. I even kept your Chinese soap opera music. You're welcome, by the way." Mac was about to protest further, but Jack simply shoved Darla into his chest and gave him a reproachful glare. "Mac. I know you felt that little tremor surprise while you were doodling away in the real world. Was Bozer around when it happened?" Knowing Bozer, he'd probably already freaked out just from watching Mac lose consciousness every time he jumped inside his signature to take measurements. But seeing Mac in full-seizure wasn't an easy sight to behold for anyone, especially the blonde's best friend. He saw Mac spare a glance at the floor.

"Bozer wasn't in the room when I returned. Based on the note he left, he's loading up on his third round of the cappuccino coconut chocolate glaze special and the maple almond sliced mango muffin."

"So you didn't tell him?" Jack scoffed.

"I didn't had the chance. I came back here as soon as I could to make sure you were okay." Mac cleared his throat and held the chicken at arms-length. "Anyway, thanks Jack, but chickens don't really belong in a warehouse. You can have Darla back." Jack made no move to accept his favorite chicken.

"C'mon, boy genius. How do you think the tremors stopped? Even your windows are back to normal."

"The tremors usually just stop on their own," Mac replied. He raised an eyebrow at his companion's smug face. "Wait. Are you telling me that YOU stopped it?"

"Sure did."

"How?!" Mac's voice was suddenly desperate, hopeful. Jack again felt a wave of guilt wash over him, a reminder of how he'd failed his Mindbreakee by not ending this torment for him sooner. He hastily brushed his guilt aside and assumed a cocky grin.

"I brought some of my things over to your place. BAM! Stopped the Nikki-quake right in its tracks! I put a lot of my crap in here…probably more than you need. But the items from my signature should act as a buffer and head off any tremors down the road." It wasn't an understatement. Jack had scooped up all his chickens, cleaned out the farmhouse, and dragged as much storage from the barn as he could manage. "One more thing, partner." Jack plopped the cowboy hat on Mac's head while the youth struggled to hold the chicken in place. "There you go. A real country boy!" Mac allowed the chicken to wrench herself free and run aimlessly around Jack's legs.

"BAAAHHHKKK!"

"Yeah, watch out for her, she's a real screamer." Jack caught the cowboy hat as Mac gently tossed it back.

"They're really gone? The…Nikki-quakes?"

"Yep, this should take care of it until we take her down for real." It was Jack's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Mac…you really didn't think you'd be stuck with those attacks forever, did you?"

"Not really. I just hadn't figured out a way to get rid of them yet. Looks like I should've asked you for help first."

"What were you gonna do? Bore the tremor to death with math equations?"

Mac crossed his arms. "I had something in mind. More along the lines of wiring a string of rigged explosives together and detonating them at different points along the fault line...But I like your way better. More improvising."

They worked in tandem the rest of the day, bringing Riley's grand total of mapping completion up to nearly forty percent. Riley forgot to tell Jack about the three bratty kids who'd crushed his sandcastles while he was unconscious, or about the bird that had decided to poop on his beach shorts. Sometimes he really hated being a Mindbreaker!


	11. Chapter 11

In hindsight, Mac realized it had been foolhardy to refuse Matty's day off. After five days of non-stop warehouse mapping and being literally hen-pecked by Darla, he needed a break. Unfortunately, Phoenix had other plans.

"I'm glad you two finally decided to show up," their Director said by way of greeting as Mac and Jack entered the glass-walled briefing room. Riley, Cage and Bozer were already present. Bozer and Mac shared a brief fist bump as Mac took his place beside him.

While Mac had been holed up in Nikki's Fortess of Solitude for the better half of a week, Bozer had been tested in other ways. Namely, not drooling over the state-of-the-art lab equipment that made MIT's physics department look like a second grade science fair. But while their rigorous schedules kept them apart during the day, the childhood friends made it a point to have a beer together at night before dragging themselves to bed. At least Matty was lenient when it came to moderate drinking after hours.

Unless it involved Jack's beloved mama juanas. Then any and all drinking privileges were swiftly revoked.

"Hold up, Señorita," the Delta at his side quipped, "we got your message as soon as we could. We can't exactly _tell_ when we get a text while we're both unconscious. And, thanks to yours truly – with some help from Big Mac – we've brought the warehouse mapping up to eighty percent—"

"Shut up, Dalton." The brunette waved away Jack's sputtering disbelief. "I'm well aware of your accomplishments. Gold star. But the rest of your project will just have to wait."

Mac felt his heart sink. She wanted to put a hold on the project? Not when they finally had a lead! "Wait, Matty. We can't just stop what we're doing. We still need to crack that code Jack and I found—"

"We already have," Matty responded as she tapped the highly sensitive screen at the front of the room. The monitor sparked to life immediately, various screenshots depicting an emaculate manor filling the frame. The last picture portrayed a middle-aged man with feathered hair. "Say hello to Nicholas Helman. A cutthroat business mogul and self-made billionaire. This disgustingly elaborate mansion is his weekend home-away-from-home…AKA base of operations for his illegal arms trade deals."

Jack stood rooted in place. His expression melted from shock to skepticism within seconds as he tried to work out the connection. "You found this guy using four numbers?"

"It was actually three numbers," Riley interjected.

Jack frowned. Mac, similarly surprised, mirrored the Delta's look of confusion. Yesterday, after picking their way through rows of filing cabinets, roosting chickens, and piles of Jack's miscellanous things, they'd discovered the numbers eight, nine, two, and zero carved crudely around the window frames. Interestingly, the numbers didn't just appear once; the set repeated over and over in untidy scrawl, as if each were gouged by hand. The whole affair had given Jack the heebie-jeebies; nevertheless, they'd both spent hours contemplating the numbers' significance. Mac had considered the Fibonacci sequence, the geographic coordinate system, the Richter magnitude scale and thermodynamic temperature units. Jack had even petitioned Riley to comb through phone numbers and license plates using what he felt were incomplete digits. They'd stopped throwing ideas around mere minutes ago due to exhaustion, sheer frustration and the promise of coffee. It was then that they'd seen Matty's texts and high-tailed it to her impromptu meeting.

"Uh, is anyone gonna share with the class?" Bozer asked a little meekly, outwardly cringing when Matty's fierce gaze landed on him. He quickly turned to Riley. "Or, uh, maybe you can tell us how you figured out those numbers?"

"She didn't figure them out. _I_ did." Director Webber snapped. "And it's made me reconsider why I even bother with a team when I have to do all the legwork."

"Wait a minute, that's not fair—" Jack protested, but his complaint was cut short.

"Dalton, out of everyone in this room, it should've been you to figure this out."

Mac blinked, certain that Matty would have singled him out instead of the Mindbreaker. Jack's bravado wilted slightly. "Huh? But Matty, I'm just the field guy. I'm really not that smart when it comes to math and numbers and codes—"

"I don't need to remind you that I've read your entire unredacted file, which includes every miniscule detail about your signature." The brunette was met with a patented Jack Dalton blank stare. She rolled her eyes, enunciating her words slowly for emphasis. "Specifically, the numerical padlock on that pasture gate of yours."

Jack's eyes lit up in recognition. "Oh yeah, the padlock I had to smash through when Nikki froze it over…It's the same padlock combo I had for my bike when I was a little kid, too. It spells out 'JACK' but with numbers."

His moment of pride was interrupted by Riley's snort of derision.

"Wow. You're _SO_ cool, Jack."

"HEY! It was clever enough that no one ever stole my bike!"

"Probably because it wasn't good enough to steal," Cage said. Even Matty couldn't hide a smirk, but she quickly masked her amusement.

"It makes sense that the warehouse would absorb some of your idiosyncracies since you've crowded Mac's place with all your trash."

"Hey, now—"

"So those numbers you saw all over the warehouse match that stupid cipher you came up with for your bike lock. Not hard to figure out. When you match up the numbers eight, nine, and twenty to the alphabet you get—"

"HIT," Mac concluded.

"Nice work, Boy Scout. Would've helped if you and Den Brother over there had figured that out a day ago," Matty retorted. "Helman must have visited the warehouse often. It was probably a drop point during past dealings with Nikki. Jack's house warming gifts must have caused the warehouse to reveal Helman's footprints somehow."

Shame burned through Mac's core as he mulled over the simple solution. A cipher. One of the most basic encryptions in recorded history. His twelve-year-old self would have solved the code within seconds; however, Mac hadn't been thinking on childhood terms. Nikki had proven herself to be a conniving, sophisticated adversary and that assessment had colored his decision on how to approach the numbers. Instead of working his way up from the most obvious method, he'd jumped headfirst into complex theories and algorithms, consequently dragging the rest of the team along that mindset. For a fleeting moment, he was actually glad his father wasn't around to witness the latest in his series of blatant failures.

Bozer, inherently tuned in to Mac's tendency to self-evaluate, launched a lone paperclip in his direction. His meaning was clear: _It's not your fault. Don't dwell on it. Focus on the task at hand._ Mac snatched the metallic item from the air, his fingers automatically moving to repurpose its shape as he fought to bring his mind back to the present. Matty shot Bozer a withering gaze.

"Bozer, need I remind you this isn't kindergarten. We don't _throw_ things inside a highly classified, technologically advanced military-grade war room. And we _certainly_ don't turn office supplies into toys for our own amusement." This last remark was directed at the blonde, who quickly stilled his movements. To everyone's astonishment, it was Cage who came to his defense.

"Mac works optimally when he's allowed to fidget. Take away the paperclip and he'd start pacing the floor, which would be even more distracting."

Matty narrowed her eyes but chose not to comment. Instead, she turned back to the target splayed across the screen. Mac nodded to Cage as a token of thanks and took the opportunity to renew his efforts bending the malleable object in his hands.

"Helman is not only a known Delta-ranked Mindbreaker but also the Chairman of the Board for an organization known as the Homicide International Trust. HIT for short. His bread-and-butter consists of professional assassinations and contract kills, but in recent years he's put forth more ambition and finances into weapons dealing. Even without the numbers pointing us in his direction, Helman is a logical next step in locating Nikki Carpenter. She didn't become a top black market arms dealer without help, and it makes sense he would be willing to provide assistance to another Mindbreaker of his caliber."

Jack, his confidence boosted, swaggered forward and crossed his arms. "So, we need to get close to this douchebag and see what he knows about Nikki. I assume you're talking about a good ol' snatch-and-grab?"

"No."

"Okay, then. A good ol' snatch-and-interrogate?"

"Again, no."

The operative wavered. "A good ol' boring stake out?"

Matty didn't even waste breath with a response. She nodded at Riley, who brought up an image of a fancy-shmancy party invitation with gag-inducing curly-cue font on the main screen. "I'm talking about infiltrating Helman's social networking party."

Jack grimaced and shook his head. "I'm out, that sounds lame."

"Tough luck, you overgrown baby. Helman's a big player in the Mindbreaker market. This party is an excuse for him to assess and initiate new members into his exclusive private club. I'm sure he'll be delighted to welcome another powerhouse into his inner circle."

The turn of conversation sobered Jack a bit and he muttered darkly under his breath. Bozer tentatively raised a hand and waited for an exasperated Matty to call on him before he asked, "Okay, so if Jack's going to schmooze up to club members and I'm assuming Cage is going to interrogate Daddy Warbucks, why are the rest of us here?"

"Because this op is _recon only_ and this party is limited to Mindbreakers and their Mindbreakees. Jack, you and Goldilocks are going undercover as wealthy business partners looking to invest in Helman's lucrative arms dealing industry. Cage and Bozer will be assigned lookout posts around the estate where they will keep tabs on outside activity and determine possible exfil points. Riley will stay with the surveillance van where she will either successfully hack into Helman's security system or find herself out of a job."

"No pressure," Riley huffed quietly, but her comment was drowned out by Jack's obnoxious roar.

"WHOA, Matilda! Mac and I agreed to be partners, but not…not field partners! He's not ready for this!"

"I have to agree with Jack," Mac concurred. He finished his paperclip design – a miniature "H" – and held it up to the light. "This is big for a first mission. Maybe Bozer and I should hang back on this one and continue the warehouse mapping project."

Jack turned and wrapped an arm around the blonde's shoulder. "Atta boy, Angus! Cage can pretend to be my Mindbreakee while my boy over here spends another day scoping out that creepy warehouse for Riley. Win-win."

Matty sighed and a bit of humanity washed over her strict features. "I considered that option. But Helman won't allow any Mindbreakers to join the club unless they give him a demonstration. And as much as I applaud Cage's acting abilities, I doubt even she'd be able to perform well enough to convince Helman of the bond. We can't risk it." Matty addressed Mac and Bozer, eyes darting between the former mechanics. "I recognize that you boys are under-trained. But that doesn't mean you're not ready. You both have already surpassed my expectations in the short time I've known you. Do your best and don't screw this up. Got it?"

"Yes ma'am," they responded together.

"Good," she replied, "because this invitation is dated forty-eight hours from now and we've still got a lot of ground to cover. Depending on how well this operation goes, there's a possibility that Jack's membership into HIT could become long-term." Jack groaned pitieously. Matty ignored him. "I need one hundred and ten percent out there. With everything that's going on, none of you will get another day off in a long time. Probably not for a year or more."

This time Jack wasn't the only one to complain.


	12. Chapter 12

The mansion boasted four outdoor glass-blown fountains, two spiraling marble staircases, six crystal chandeliers, fifty diamond-studded rooms, twenty fireplaces, three floor-to-ceiling aquariums, an indoor grotto, a private observatory, and an atrium filled with priceless artwork. Even the invitations themselves were dramatic; embossed in silk and lavender with a sprinkle of gold dust adorning the handwritten calligraphy.

The formal occasion meant swapping his usual button-up shirt and accompanying brown jacket for something worth at least as much as the gold flecks on that invite. In the weeks since his Mindbreak, Mac had been given a generous allowance to buy the essentials for day-to-day life. His living arrangement was currently a two-man suite with Bozer in a discrete wing of Phoenix that included an almost-full closet filled with his recent purchases. Namely: button-up shirts and khaki pants.

Mac supposed he should've been more of a coveralls kind of guy. After all, that had been his daily attire after he left MIT to go into the auto repair business with his best friend. But despite his best efforts, he couldn't remember working at the body shop or the long hours in-between. If he concentrated hard enough he could catch flashes of it, but the scenes often blurred together. He hadn't had the nerve to tell Boz—his friend was still fuming over the fact that Phoenix had bought their company without their say—but Mac had mentioned his memory lapse to Jack during one of their fireside chats.

"Ohh….yeah, I think I know what happened," Jack had recalled. "When Nikki Mindbroke you, she took about four or five filing cabinets down with her. The water soaked everything inside. I just couldn't get to them in time. There might've been more that were damaged. Hard to tell, Mac. I did manage to save a red folder though."

"It's not your fault, Jack," Mac remembered saying, despite the small flicker of despair. "Out of everything that Nikki took from me, I'm glad you were able to save what you could. That red folder means a lot to me." It stored everything about his dad, including all of the devoted hours poured into making the Lincoln purr again.

But the loss of those filing cabinets Nikki had sabotaged was significant.

At least two years of body shop experience instantly erased from his mind. He was lucky that he'd kept Bozer's friendship stored in a completely separate set of filing cabinets, as those memories had been spared from Nikki's icy death.

Interestingly, this huge memory gap also affected Mac's style of dress. He couldn't explain it. In college, he'd always been one to wear ratty T-shirts seeing as he was too involved in his studies to care. But things were different now. He _did_ care. He even made sure his button-downs were ironed and tucked in, something he never did before. But why? Mac supposed Cage, with her extensive psychological background, could fit the pieces together for him, but he already had a built-in Mindbreaker barging into his signature every other day and didn't particularly care for a second person having access to those innermost thoughts.

But even his new wardrobe couldn't dampen the expert fit and comfort of the streamlined tuxedo he donned for the main event. The black suit felt like butter against his skin. Mac straightened his tie to give his hands something to do while Jack exited behind him in a steely gray suit. The walkway to the front door was exquisitely decorated; rows of pearly lights cleverly disguised no less than twenty security cameras as they neared their destination. Jack fell in step beside him with a low whistle.

"We really lucked out on this gig, _Lucas Till_." Mac had to force himself not to roll his eyes.

"Yeah, I heard you the first ten thousand times on the drive over, _George Eads_."

It had taken them at least two hours to settle on their stage names for the mission. Jack had decided to choose Mac's alias for him and recycled through the names Tripp, ("It sounds like the kind of name one of those monster truck drivers would have, you know?") Alex, ("This is like one of those superhero names where you end up with powers and blow stuff up!") and Cayden ("This is totally a name I'd give a werewolf!") until Mac made the decision for him.

"Let's just go with Lucas."

"Fine, be BORING. C'mon, pick a name out for me! Something cool and dangerous!"

"Okay, then. George it is."

"That's it? George? There are tons of other names out there, like Nick! What about Nick? That's a good name!"

"Well, do you want to go by Nick or George?"

"I…I dunno! This is hard! Nick! No, George! No—"

"C'mon, George. We've got a text from Matty. The limousine's gonna pick us up in five."

Thanks to some fancy computer know-how from Riley, the new names were added to Helman's selective roster for the planned event. She'd planted faux websites and records that collaborated George's Mindbreaker status, should Helman assign his own hacker to verify the new attendees.

Which led Mac and Jack to this very moment, entering a luxurious estate rich enough to spiral either of them into a lifetime of debt if they even looked at something as simple as a porcelain vase. The hidden comms in both their ears crackled to life.

 _"_ _We're in position."_ Cage's clipped accent affirmed. Bozer added, _"Easy for you to say. You didn't have to climb a ten-foot-high bush trimmed in the shape of an elephant in order to see the rear entrance."_

 _"_ _I'm in, Matty."_ Riley confirmed quickly, the sharp tapping of keys drifting through the audio of their earpieces. _"I have access to surveillance of every floor but I'm still working on getting it under my control."_

 _"_ _Make it happen, Riley,"_ Matty demanded. Her next orders were directed to Till and Eads. " _Okay, you two. Stick to the plan. Find Helman, learn what you can, then get out. Oh, and Jack? Try not to embarrass yourself in that ridiculous suit."_

"I happen to make chicks drool over monkey suits like this," Jack muttered into his comm, although Mac thought the cheeky retort seemed rather forced.

Mac retreated a step behind Jack and allowed him to take the lead, as any Mindbreaker of this exclusive club would be inclined to do. Jack hesitated half a step before reclaiming his usual gait. Despite the glamor of the mansion and its rich buffet and proffered champagne, Mac could tell that Jack would rather be anywhere else than making small talk with a bunch of snobs over a topic he'd been trying to avoid most of his life. As a crowd mingled in front of them, Jack came to an abrupt stop. Mac approached his right shoulder, keeping his eyes averted.

"You doing okay, George?"

"I changed my mind. I don't know if I can do this." The crowd passed and Mac gave Jack a slight push to keep him moving onward as a similar crowd pressed in behind them.

"Yes, you can. We just need to find Nicholas Helman and gather intel on his latest arms deal. If he drinks the same way he blows his money, we'll be out of here in under thirty minutes."

The duo shuffled forward, stepping around the bustling crowd as they traversed the atrium. A bespectacled man suddenly stopped their progress and eyed Jack curiously. He shook his hand.

"Welcome, Mr. Eads. We've been expecting you. Please, follow me upstairs to the Peridot Circle." Jack and Mac exchanged glances behind the man's back. The Peridot Circle was Mr. Helman's exclusive club meant for Mindbreakers level Charlie and up. On paper, George Eads was level Charlie, one step below Jack's Delta status. No need for Helman to know more than was needed to gain his trust.

Mac followed Jack and their guide discreetly as the three of them ascended the magnificent staircase. He hoped Jack could pull this off. Any misstep could cost them their lives; a fact Jack seemed quite willing to forget as he peered anxiously from side to side once they reached the landing.

"Are you looking for anything in particular?" The man asked, face expressionless.

"I think I'd like a good, strong drink before the big ol' meet-and-greet, if you get my meaning." Jack said, straining to catch a glimpse of one of the servers. The bespectacled man stared at him over the rim of his glasses.

"Why, sir, your Broken can simply fetch one for you, if you desire." The man resumed his walking, leaving a gaping Jack to catch up.

"The Broken?" Mac saw Jack spare him a fleeting glance. "You mean Lucas?"

"Referring to him as such is entirely your choice, but please understand that Mr. Helman deeply wishes for his esteemed guests to call them by their respective titles: the Broken." Mac saw the heat rise in Jack's neck.

" _Jack. This is the first lead we've had since Nikki fled the body shop. Screw this up, and we'll never get a chance like this again. So play along,"_ Matty sharply reminded him. The man ushered Mac and Jack inside the observatory where a large rectangular dinner table shone luxuriously in the center of the room. The ceiling was composed of clear, reinforced glass to showcase the night sky.

"Mr. George Eads," the bespectacled man said as way of introduction then promptly left and snapped the door shut behind them. Nicholas Helman, sharply dressed in a crisp white dress shirt and coal black suit jacket, stood regal at the head of the table.

"Mr. Eads, please take a seat." Mac followed Jack to the table, glancing up long enough to take stock of his surroundings. The scene made his stomach drop.

Behind each seated Mindbreaker stood their Mindbreakee; hands clasped, heads bowed, faces vacant. The Mindbreakers themselves were split evenly between men and women of obvious power and wealth. Mac took his place behind Jack and adopted a similar submissive stance. Jack tried to disrupt the eerie silence with a laugh.

"Nice place you got here. Much better than my little forty room mansion back home."

"I'm told you are level Charlie," Helman said softly as he took his seat.

"Sure am. They even put it on my voter's registration card."

"I don't recruit new members very often, but this is a special circumstance. Locating Mindbreakers above even a basic Alpha is proving hard to come by these days." A murmur of agreement followed the words. "Tonight, let us rejoice as we commemorate the leaders of a new age." Mac heard glasses clink as the Mindbreakers shared a toast.

The next few minutes dulled into standard fluff about expenses and mundane business transactions which gave Mac the time to study Helman from afar. The man's face was like a deep pool, the superficial emotions dancing on the surface belying a churn of unpleasantness underneath. The palm and forefingers of his right hand were heavily callused, indicating an extensive handgun hobby. Confidence oozed out of the career criminal like pus from an infected wound.

A ripple of commotion caused the Peridot members to turn in their seats as a series of carts laden with exotic food were brought in the room. Imported wines bearing names too difficult to pronounce accompanied the five course meal.

"Ah. Right on time. Please enjoy yourselves." As the Mindbreakers spoke to each other in delighted tones, Jack tried to rise from his seat to get his plate and was pushed back down by Mac's steady hand. Helman thankfully did not notice this slip of etiquette. One by one, the Mindbreakees turned to gather food and drink for their respective masters. No thanks were said in return. Jack tried to twist around in his seat to catch Mac's eye, but Mac gave him another slight shove in warning then left to prepare Jack's meal.

Mac tried to keep his face passive as he mingled silently among the other men and women filling up plates for their masters. And he'd thought the outdated training video was bad. Seeing Helman's blatant disregard for Mindbreakees added some context for Nikki's haughty Mindbreaker mentality. The Broken were merely objects to these people; personal servants with their rights stripped away. Mac flushed with guilt at the thought. Not too long ago, he'd accused Jack of the same thing, convinced that he'd force him into servitude and leave him helpless under his command. But Jack was nothing like them. That also became painfully obvious when the operative started to fold his napkin into an origami swan and gave his neighbor a playful nudge with his elbow.

"Dude, you gotta try this. These napkins are super starchy so they can, like, stand up on their own. See, watch this!"

Mac bit back a groan. Jack may be the most compassionate and trustworthy Mindbreaker in this group of fops, but his demeanor didn't exactly scream 'dangerous, cutthroat Charlie' like the rest of the pack. He hurriedly piled the fine china with a little bit of everything then dashed back to Jack's side before his partner could draw more attention to himself.

"Thanks, man," Jack said, quick to shovel the food in his mouth. Mac tried not to roll his eyes from behind Jack's shoulder at the words. Matty also caught the social blunder.

" _JACK. Are you a complete moron?! None of the other Mindbreakers have said two words to their Mindbreakees. You need to ignore Mac. Don't talk to him, don't make eye contact with him, don't make a scene. Blondie will get over it."_

Jack made an obnoxious slurping noise in confirmation. Twenty minutes into the meal and Mac was already growing weary of standing at semi-attention while his own stomach rumbled. But being overlooked did come with advantages. He recognized eight out of the twenty members as weapon traffickers from Phoenix's dossier with an affinity for anything that went BOOM. Another five were low-grade thugs known for having a hand in whichever nation's cookie jar had the most funds at their disposal. The rest were warmongers who had amassed blood fortunes too large to spend in a single lifetime.

And then there was Jack. Mac risked a glance in Nicholas Helman's direction and saw him peering at Jack from across the table. Mac dropped his gaze as the pieces clicked into place.

This dinner had been set up for Jack all along. He was as much on display as his Mindbreakee, allowing Helman time to make his own inferences. The dishes were soon swept away and surrounding conversations came to a natural close. Judging by the slight smirk on their host's lips, the businessman had seen all he'd needed to see.

"Mr. Eads," the man purred, jerking Jack's attention away from peeling the wrapper off a complimentary mint, "before we proceed any further, I must be sure of your complete and utter loyalty to this club and its members."

"Sure thing, boss. I'm your guy. All about the team." Jack popped the mint into his mouth. Helman's smirk deepened.

"I want you to go into your signature, Mr. Eads. You will then close the focal point between yourself and your Broken and rejoin us in this room." Jack stared at him, letting the wrapper fall from his hands. "Is there a problem?"

"No, not at all. Just jumping too soon in the noggin gives me a stomach ache sometimes. You know that rule about eating and swimming? I usually go by the hard and fast thirty minute rule—" Helman drew a gun and cocked the hammer back.

"I'm sure you can guess what happens next if you refuse."

"Whoa, WHOA! I'm kidding! I'll do whatever you say, boss." Jack crossed his arms and rested his elbows on the table to prepare for the jump. Mac saw the slight quiver in his hands and wondered if Helman could see it, too. Within seconds Jack's body crumpled and his head and torso slumped forward on the imported tablecloth. Mac remained motionless, eyes downcast, but his mind looped the words from that cheesy video he'd never finished watching. _The focal point serves as the bond's tangible link between both minds and should never be tampered with or severed. Closing off the focal point causes damage to both parties._

Mac suddenly flinched as something akin to a gunshot pulsed through his body. The sensation condensed into fiery threads that began snaking through his fingertips; the searing, merciless cold that had ripped his life to shreds was returning after being held at bay by Jack's presence. He clenched his hands in an attempt to prevent the familiar tremors from devouring the rest of his body. He heard Jack stir and regain consciousness.

"Very good, Mr. Eads," the deep voice praised. He made a show of tapping the face of his Rolex. "As any good Mindbreaker knows, closing the focal point means certain death to your Broken. In my experience, Alphas have a two minute window until their Broken can't take the strain. For Betas, nearly four. But for Charlies and Deltas…eight minutes. Hold out for eight minutes and I'll allow you to open the focal point. If your Broken can't survive the time limit, I'll know you're lying about your Charlie status. And if you attempt to jump into your signature before then or beg for mercy…" He pointed the gun squarely at Jack's head. "Game over." The armed man stood and motioned for Jack to do the same. The operative complied without question. "Face your Broken. Your time starts now."

Mac clenched his eyes shut, drowning out the image of Jack's tortured expression. Riley's voice flooded the comms.

" _Matty, they've got a gun on Jack. Looks like this is Helman's version of club initiation._ "

" _Keep tabs on that gun, Riley. Knowing Goldilocks, he won't be taken out that easily. Just under eight minutes to go, Mac."_

The ice tore into Mac's arms with such force he couldn't hold back a scream. It stretched to his shoulders, melding into his bones until his entire core stung with that scorching chill. He nearly dropped to his knees.

"Two minutes," Helman noted lazily. Mac heard him give his watch another tap. "So, Mr. Eads. Tell me about yourself."

"Wh-what?" Jack replied. His voice was gruff as though speaking through glass. He may not be doubled over, but the stress of the focal point's disconnect was physically affecting him as well. Helman gently repeated the question, as though chatting with an old friend. Jack spat out the fabricated backstory penned by Matty. "I work with nuclear tech. My guys ship materials into the country and let the highest bidder do the rest." The cold stabbed frozen daggers into Mac's legs, enough to tear another cry from his throat.

"Interesting. I've never heard of your name. A fresh face, perhaps?"

"Just someone who knows how to keep his affairs off the books until the right price comes along," Jack replied in-between breaths. Mac's knees took the brunt of the explosive shards and he collapsed onto the marbled tiles.

"Four minutes. Well, you're at least a Beta," Helman noted. Mac heard the man's footsteps echo as he walked over to his struggling form. "And what tech would someone like me require?"

"The untraceable kind," Jack gasped. "An alloy so new it's not even on the market. Your other investors don't have the same kind of pull that I do." Their host gave a measured laugh.

"My investors happen to control the entire eastern world on a very fine string. If a new alloy was available, I would already have it in my collection."

"Then maybe your people should call my people." Through the blood pounding in his ears, Mac heard the butt of the gun crack across Jack's face.

"Six minutes," Helman said. Jack groaned through gritted teeth. "I don't like to be called a liar in front of my distinguished guests."

"I have the materials to prove it."

Mac didn't hear the rest. His body was shaking so violently he couldn't feel his limbs. The frozen tendrils finally bled into his head and neck, squeezing with each labored breath, bringing forth a new surge of pain behind his eyelids.

"Eight minutes." The words cut through the fog of agony and a blossom of hope pooled in Mac's chest. His suffering was almost over. He mentally screamed for Jack to open the focal point, his throat seizing. Jack must've made a move to do that very thing, because there was another sharp CRACK followed by the operative's cursing. He sensed Jack take a knee beside him.

"It's been eight minutes!"

"And I've decided to stretch it to ten."

It was the longest two minutes of Mac's life. Whereas Nikki's Mindbreak had been swift and vicious, literally tearing through his mind in an uncontrolled flurry, this was a drawn-out method of pure torment. By nine and a half minutes, he was praying for the strength to take in his next breath. Jack didn't wait for Helman's permission once the ten minute mark was reached. Mac felt the cold vice drain from his tendons the moment Jack pried the focal point open again. He sucked in large lungfuls of air, coughing harshly, and slowly allowed himself to open his eyes. Jack started to stir beside him with a few muttered curse words. Two gashes stained the Delta's temple red.

"Your Mindbreak is impressive, Mr. Eads." The gun was wiped clean of blood and returned to its concealed holster. Helman, acting as if nothing was amiss, offered his hand as a show of good faith. Jack managed to stand unaided and returned the businessman's goodwill through a convincing, if awkward, handshake. "Perhaps this new alloy of yours could be put to use in the proper hands." Mac continued to hack obscenely, his vision still spotted around the edges. He was still so _unbelievable cold._ "Ladies and gentlemen, please dismiss your Broken for the evening. The rest of this meeting shall be conducted for our ears only." The Mindbreakees dispersed noiselessly, the herd simply stepping around Mac's prone form as they departed. Mac winced as he was forcibly hauled to his feet and propelled toward the same double doors from which he'd entered.

 _"_ _Mac, hang in there. We've got you."_ Riley reassured, her voice pulsing gently through his comm. Mac didn't know how that was possible seeing as he was still being towed to who-knows-where by a complete stranger—

"Mac, why do you always seem to attract trouble when I'm not around?" The blonde turned his head and gave the man at his side a quick once over.

"Bozer?!"

"At your service, Mr. Till." Bozer's Phoenix-issued fatigues had been replaced with an authentic head butler's uniform, complete with polished cuff links and white satin gloves. Bozer shepherded his charge out of the stifling observatory and toward the magnificent balcony glittering with thousands of twinkling lights.

" _How's our boy, Bozer?_ " Matty asked. The pseudo butler kept a sturdy hand on Mac's shoulder.

"Oh, you know, he's still Mr. Perfect Hair. I mean, seriously Mac, how do you keep it in that part?"

"I'm fine, Matty," Mac interjected, ignoring Bozer's question. He ran a clammy hand through his (admittedly perfect) hair. "But Jack's completely on his own in there. And he's, you know…Jack."

 _"_ _Uh, guys, bad news. Jack's earpiece went out and I've lost the video feed to the entire building. Someone really doesn't want us to know what going on in there_ ," Riley said through a flutter of keystrokes.

 _"_ _Then get it BACK, Riley!"_ Mac's attention was pulled away by a set of piercing headlights entering the main drive. He peered over the balcony edge with a frown.

"Heads up. We've got a new arrival. Riley, who else is on the list for tonight's party?"

 _"_ _All the guests should already be inside, Mac. The last one showed up about twenty minutes ago."_ Cage stated, concern lacing her otherwise collected demeanor. Bozer squeezed his way past classy party-goers and joined Mac's side by the railing.

"So…who's crashing the party?"

Mac watched as a slimming figure stepped nimbly out of the vehicle, blonde hair cascading down her shoulders, posture both regal and unassuming as she sauntered toward the entrance. Her stilettos stabbed the stonework with a steady clack and he physically felt the warehouse in his mind shift and crumble in response. "Mac?" His companion prompted, and it was only then that Mac realized he'd been holding his breath, gripping the smooth marble of the balcony so tight his knuckles turned white.

"We've got to call off the operation. Matty, we need to pull Jack out NOW."

" _Listen up, Boy Scout. I know Jack can't talk his way out of a paper bag, but we can't just drop the mission. Pulling him out now would only—"_ Mac promptly ignored the rest. He tore himself from the balcony and ran to the upper staircase landing, casting his gaze downward toward the bejeweled atrium, committing every small trinket to memory. His eyes fell on the buffet line and its array of silverware.

He'd need that later.

"Whoa, wait up, Mac! You're not suggesting we go non-guns blazing inside a heavily fortified room with, like, twenty murderous Mindbreakers inside? Cuz I'm pretty sure they could just break me the good ol' fashioned way with a straight up punch to the face—"

"Boz, grab that wine bottle for me. I've got an idea."

"An idea? About wine tasting?"

 _"_ _Mac, what is going on?"_ Matty demanded.

"Nikki."

 _"_ _WHAT?!"_ Matty, Cage and Riley exclaimed simultaneously at this unexpected turn of events. Matty quickly regained her composure and continued, _"Recon ends now. I'm granting permission to engage with any and all hostiles—"_

"Without guns?" Bozer repeated, voice tight with fear.

 _"_ _I have a gun,"_ Cage added coolly.

 _"_ _With or without guns,"_ Matty amended, temper flaring. _"Mac, Bozer – tail Nikki and stay out of sight. Cage, prepare to extract Dalton. Riley, I need visual in there STAT—"_

Mac suddenly grabbed Bozer and hauled him bodily back toward the balcony where they both slid out of sight amongst the idling guests. Both men peered around the corner, Mac's worst fears confirmed.

"Change of plans, Matty. Nikki's ascending the staircase and heading toward…Oh no."

"The observatory." Bozer finished, exchanging worried glances with Mac. They watched helplessly as Nikki Carpenter opened the ornate double doors and invited herself into the private meeting, soon to discover an unsuspecting Phoenix agent among HIT's callous members.


End file.
